


Vertigo (The Fear of Falling and the Desire to Fall)

by Rozarka, smutty_claus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: smutty_claus, Control Issues, Cunnilingus, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Female Friendship, Girl Saves Boy, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Humor, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Porn With Plot, Quidditch, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 01:37:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rozarka/pseuds/Rozarka, https://archiveofourown.org/users/smutty_claus/pseuds/smutty_claus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After losing a reserve spot for the Appleby Arrows, Katie is just going through the motions in the mundane tedium of a Ministry job. But when she overhears a shady conversation that hints at corruption in the Quidditch league, she is forced to take this accidentally obtained information to help a certain obnoxious Hufflepuff — the very same man she loathes for putting an end to her own, brief Quidditch career.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vertigo (The Fear of Falling and the Desire to Fall)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for idea_of_sarcasm for the 2012 [exchange](http://smutty-claus.livejournal.com). Many thanks to Anise, Muridae, and Annanith for beta and assistance with the story.

**To: idea_of_sarcasm  
From: Your Secret Santa**

>   
>  **Title:** Vertigo (The Fear of Falling and the Desire to Fall)  
>  **Author:** thimble_kiss  
>  **Pairing:** Katie Bell/Zacharias Smith  
>  **Summary:** After losing a reserve spot for the Appleby Arrows, Katie is just going through the motions in the mundane tedium of a Ministry job. But when she overhears a shady conversation that hints at corruption in the Quidditch league, she is forced to take this accidentally obtained information to help a certain obnoxious Hufflepuff — the very same man she loathes for putting an end to her own, brief Quidditch career.  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Length:** ~22,500 words  
>  **Warnings:** None.  
>  **Author's notes:** Happy holidays, dear idea_of_sarcasm! ♥ It's a pleasure to have you as my recipient this year, and I very much hope you'll enjoy this story! Warm thanks to my betas, and not least to the mods for their patience with me. A note on one secondary character: I know that Katie's friend Leanne was a Hufflepuff in the movies, but it would have poked a fairly awkward hole in my plot if I'd gone by that sorting. Since book canon makes no explicit mention of her house, but strongly implies in one HBP scene that she's in Katie's house and year, I've taken the liberty of making her a Gryffindor instead.

 

_'Vertigo is the conflict between the fear of falling and the desire to fall.' ~ Salman Rushdie_

*

  
_December 1999_

"You told me you had everything under control!"

The deep voice of her boss snapped with an impatience that made Katie wince and pause in shrugging on her thick winter cape over her Ministry robes. She frowned as she looked towards her door, which stood barely ajar. She'd said goodbye to Baddock over an hour ago and had believed that she was alone in the corridor of offices, so her first thought was that the words were for her. But before she was halfway to the door, she'd dropped that theory. He had no reason to be irritated with her that she could think of — not that such petty considerations tended to stop him, but he'd surely have opened the door and barged in if he had meant to chew her out for something. 

But she hadn't thought there were anyone else left here, either, than herself, working overtime.

Before she could continue down her puzzled train of thought, a second, nervous voice answered. "Oh, I do, sir, I swear I do." Footsteps sounded down the corridor, one pair hurrying after the other, moving in a direction from Baddock's office and passing her door. Instinct kept her motionless, quiet as a mouse in her dark office. Something about the furtiveness of that second voice had made her aware that this conversation was not meant to be overheard.

"They _must_ lose. There are Galleons at stake, more than you could imagine, you idiot." They must have stopped, halfway down the corridor, and they'd lowered their voices, but Katie could still hear every word.

"I can imagine a lot of Galleons," the other man said with a snicker.

Baddock's voice was quietly furious. "Then do your fucking job."

"He's had company both of these past couple of days and nights. Besides, we need to wait closer to the match, or the risk is much greater."

Baddock scoffed. "You're cutting it too damn close. If you find it hard to get to the boy, another player will do."

"This one is perfect. Chaser, good player, but with a sour disposition, an attitude problem that makes half his team mates want to kill him already. If he tries to blame his poor performance on other factors later on, no one will be inclined to listen very hard."

"I'll take care of 'later on'. Just get it fucking done. I want the situation under control by tomorrow morning at the latest; is that clear?"

"Crystal."

"I hope so. And _don't_ visit me at work again."

The door slammed shut behind them as they left the corridor of offices, and Katie stood frozen in place, her eyes wide. They must _lose_? Galleons at stake... _I want the situation under control._

 _This one is perfect._ A scapegoat? 

No matter how she frantically tried to shuffle the words she'd heard and come up with an innocent, mundane explanation, none was forthcoming. As she turned the words over, it didn't take her many seconds to realise what match Baddock most likely had been referring to. In celebration of the turn of the millennium, the reigning national champions of Europe had battled it out over the past six months in the Millennium League, and Baddock was one of the British officials on the committee running the tournament. The final match between the Arrows and the Carcassonne Cats was coming up tomorrow, on New Year's Eve. Bets were high in bookmaker's offices not only in UK and Europe, but around the world. 

The factors were starting to form something resembling a recognisable picture. The Appleby Arrows. A Chaser. Sour disposition, attitude problem... oh, bloody hell. No. _No._ Shaking her head in disbelief, Katie emitted something like a growl between clenched teeth.

She was going to have to go and warn him, that self-serving, backstabbing arse who'd screwed her and then screwed her over. The very same bastard who'd got her kicked out from the Arrows reserve bench last spring: Zacharias Smith.  
  


***

  
_April 1999_

It was a Saturday night, and the Three Broomsticks was filled to bursting with revellers. Katie had arrived with a couple of the players on the team, which had won the match against the Falcons that day and put players and fans alike in a celebrating mood. But a few hours into the night she ended up, like she usually did, with her little tribe of Gryffindor girls. Leanne, Angelina and Al were good company on the worst of nights, and this one, while good for the team, had been dismal for Katie. As in the past half-dozen matches, Zach Smith, Kristina McLeod and Laetitia Pucey had played from the start and almost till the end. After three hours' play, Katie had been sent out to replace Kristina in what would turn out to be the final half-hour, and it would be putting it kindly to say that she'd cut a poor figure. She could feel her stomach churning as she thought of it, flipping over in something akin to dread even as she tried to keep a brave face on for the girls. What the hell was happening to her? At least she didn't think anyone had noticed the moments when she'd clung to the broom with nerveless fingers and just prayed that the blackness encroaching on her vision would pass. 

It had. This time, too. She took a long pull of her pint, her third, knowing she should slow down but craving the gentle, fuzzy filter of alcohol over her brain.

"They'll let you play a whole game soon... well, _eventually_ ," Leanne said for the third time, earnestly trying to shake her out of the morose mood, even if she alone of them didn't care particularly about Quidditch and went to the Arrows' games purely out of loyalty to Katie. "I'll sneak into Pucey's room at night and kneecap her, if you like. Bloody Slytherin."

Katie shook her head morosely. "Thanks. But Slytherin or not, Laetitia doesn't really deserve to be kneecapped."

Alicia joined in. "Kneecap Smith, then. Actually, I'll sneak into his room at night and kill him with sex, and the road will be paved for your success."

The girls' gazes travelled as one to the lanky, blond man nursing a pint of ale at the opposite end of the bar, chatting with Hannah Abbott across the counter. He must have felt the weight of their scrutiny, because he looked up and coloured slightly, then pulled his expression back into its usual haughty semi-scowl. Al and Angelina burst out laughing, but Katie wrinkled up her nose, and Leanne glanced at her and concurred. "Smith is _worse_ than a Slytherin. A snooty pureblood, a Hufflepuff _and_ a coward?" 

Katie nodded, glancing at Abbott and Smith, again. She marvelled at Hufflepuffs. Sure, they were supposed to value loyalty above else, but to extend the loyalty to a boy who'd shown absolutely no loyalty to _them_ in an hour of ultimate danger, that really was taking things a step too far. A Gryffindor who'd acted like Smith had done before the Battle would have been shunned, but Smith hung out with his former housemates all the time. Katie wasn't decided whether that made the Hufflepuffs excellent friends or simply unprincipled pushovers.

"He's fit," Al said with a shrug. "He's not a wimp on the pitch and I'm sure he's great in the sack. I wouldn't mind a piece of that, not one bit. It wouldn't cost me many calories to smother him with a pillow afterwards, either."

The discussion devolved into laughter and crude jabs after that. But oddly enough, well into Katie's fourth ale — after Al and Angelina had left for their flat and Leanne had taken off with Kenneth Towler to who knew where — who should sit down beside her other than the haughty Hufflepuff coward himself?

"All good, Bell?" he asked as he drew up the stool and sat astride it. He pushed his long blond locks out of his face and behind his ears.

She sat up straighter. "Why wouldn't I be?" Her voice slurred slightly, but he was far from sober, too, and she didn't really care at this stage what image she presented to him. 

"Dunno." He narrowed his eyes at her. "Up there, during the game. There was a moment I thought you were getting sick, when you missed that Quaffle I sent at you."

"Nerves," she said quickly. Well, it wasn't a complete lie. "I'm playing so rarely, it's starting to show. I'm sorry about your bloody Quaffle, all right?" It would have been a golden opportunity to score, show something for herself. She was sorry indeed.

Smith frowned at her aggressive tone, but then, to her surprise, he just nodded slowly. "It gets to you. Wouldn't have my time with the Falcons back if I'd been paid double for it." Smith had come to the Arrows from a year spent on the Falcons' reserve bench, two months before Katie had been picked up. She'd had a hard time convincing teams in tryouts — she was a steady, reliable worker, not a player who got up there and dazzled the audience. She worked hard, though, no one could dispute that. If she'd been picked up before Smith, perhaps their positions would have been reversed now. She could only wish.

It could be it was just her being drunk, or him being drunk, but he seemed mellower than usual, not nearly so curt and belligerent. "You'll be fine, Katie. You're not a quitter, and eventually that will pay off for you. Kris or Pucey will just have to share."

She snorted, surprised by the use of her first name but reluctantly amused. "Yes, because _you_ won't, of course."

"Are you mad? I _never_ share. Detest it." His face split into one of his rare smiles, which would probably have had Al dragging him home by the collar of his shirt if she'd seen it. From what Katie had observed, that smile was strictly reserved for Hufflepuffs and for important wins, and it transformed his whole face and made him look something better than a sullenly handsome git, something close to beautiful. He leaned in with his arm sliding to rest on the bar alongside her body, making a small, enclosed space for them in the throng. It dawned on Katie that it was a flirtatious gesture, and despite the urge to nervous laughter she felt a startled, heavy warmth in her body. 

"So, what did you girls find so funny, earlier? When you were staring at me?" His voice was warm, humorously cocky, and intimate, clued in to her mood at once. He asked as though he believed they'd been discussing his attractions, the prat. Perhaps that was the very reason he was trying it on with her now. Smith did have a reputation with women, and his confidence suggested the rumours weren't too far off base.

Well, he was only half wrong, although she hadn't been the one lauding his charms. "Al offered to sneak into your bed and kill you with sex to make a place for me on the team," she threw at him recklessly, and he grinned again. 

"Ah, Spinnet? She plays for the Prides, yeah?" He shrugged. "She's nice-looking, but I tend to go for brunettes."

He didn't touch her hair, or look at it. The way he gazed into her eyes was enough. His eyes were a clear, intense blue-green that she'd never really noticed before. And what he saw in _her_ eyes was evidently enough to give him the confidence to drop a hand almost casually to her knee, just below the edge of her skirt. Her heart started racing, and there was an instant throb between her thighs that made her press them firmly together. The slight arch of his eyebrows as his teeth sank into his lower lip suggested that he'd noticed, and that he'd correctly inferred the reason. Katie's cheeks burned. God, this was _Zacharias Smith_. She shouldn't feel this way about a man she disrespected to such a degree. It was the booze. Actually, it was her botched game, and the dreary months without playing, and most of all it was the dread of going home to her bed and the nightmares of falling, dropping screaming towards the ground—

But the booze made such a convenient excuse.

She couldn't very well take him home with her to Leanne, who would have been rightly appalled, and she refused his offer to come with him to his place. Five minutes later, he led her by the hand down a corridor to a locked door which he opened with his wand. Privilege of being a good mate of the barmaid, Katie presumed, and wondered for a moment how many other girls he'd taken out this door to stumble laughing out into the cool rush of night air, the noises of late revellers echoing down from the main street. 

She wasn't laughing, though. He drew her into a nook behind the landing and caught her cheek in his hand, catching her off guard with gentleness as he kissed her. Soft lips and the light graze of teeth and smooth, exploratory slide of his tongue. Katie didn't want gentle. She kissed him back impatiently, pressing him against the wall with a fervour that made him chuckle and murmur a gruff 'whoa' under his breath. She suspected she had nowhere near his experience, but she matched his desire and more than matched his need. His hands wandered under her clothes and made her shiver and arch against him, and her fingers were equally bold slipping down the front of his jeans and rubbing his straining erection.

His fingers gliding in the wetness between her legs made her whimper and beg for him, heat spinning and curling through her body, every worry and fear pushed safely out of her mind. "Please," she whispered, "please, inside me, fuck me," and he groaned, lifting her up against the rough brick wall as he took her. Fucked her, hard, _harder_ when she told him to. Made her forget.

It was good, hot and heavy, his cock sliding inside her and pressing her open, again and again, his breath fanning harsh beside her face, and when it got so intense that she was shaking and gasping with the first taste of panic, she closed her eyes and ended it, tightened around him and pretended an orgasm so brilliant, she could almost make-believe that it was real.

It had been exactly what she needed, or as near as she had the courage to achieve. As she crawled into her bed half an hour later — alone — she thought that for once she could have safe sleep, without the dreams of tumbling, screaming, falling.  
  


***

  
_December 1999_

Zacharias didn't answer at his door when she rang the bell, and Katie was tempted to take it as a sign that she should leave well enough alone. But of course, she didn't really have that option. Certainly, Smith was a low-life piece of scum and risking his career would be the perfect revenge for the damage he'd wreaked on hers, but the conversation she'd overheard had seemed to hint that he was in danger of more than that.

And while he was a low-life piece of scum, _she_ had some moral standards.

Even after half a year off the team, she had a fair idea of Zach Smith's general movements on a weekday after practice. He'd be out to the Three Broomsticks for dinner, or if he had dinner at home, he'd at least go out for an ale with his mates in the evening, more often than not. Sometimes to the Leaky Cauldron, but usually the Three Broomsticks, where Hannah Abbott worked behind the counter and the former Hufflepuffs tended to congregate.

So she Apparated to Hogsmeade's main street, just in time to see him some twenty yards ahead of her, chatting with Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley as they walked up to the pub's entrance. 

"Hey, Smith," she called out, and the three of them looked over their shoulders, then halted their steps and turned. Ernie and Justin smiled politely at her with looks of affable surprise, and she acknowledged them with a stiff hello. 

Smith narrowed his eyes the moment he recognised her. "Katie?"

"Do you have a minute? I need a word with you."

He raised his arm to the side, palm out in a sardonic gesture of invitation. Katie scowled.

"Alone."

He studied her with a combination of wariness and annoyance, then looked at his mates, suggesting with a curt nod of his head that they walk on ahead. Katie took a step towards him, and another one, unwilling at every move closer, but this wasn't exactly something she could holler at him across the street. Looking about her, she nodded to the narrow alley that ran down the side of the pub. "Let's get out of the main street," she said shortly.

She started down the alley, and it wasn't before she glanced over her shoulder to see if he would follow, and took in his expression, that she realised what a stupid choice that alley was. She stopped abruptly as if she'd walked into a brick wall. Christ, how could she have forgotten, even for an instant? _He_ hadn't; that was clear from the arch of his eyebrows. His expression wasn't quite a leer, but it definitely acknowledged the irony of where they were headed.

"By all means." He sauntered past her down the alley, so that it was her who had to hurry after him, and of course he stopped right _there_ , outside the side entrance to the pub, and leaned against the wall in the exact same spot where they'd...

"Good memories," he remarked.

"You're an arse," she said coldly.

His lips twitched into a mocking smirk. "You couldn't tell me _that_ in the main street? I was hoping for something better." 

Katie drew a deep breath and reminded herself of those moral standards she'd called to mind earlier. Of course, moral standards hadn't stopped her from having a one-night-stand in a dark alley with a boy she despised, all those months ago. She'd been drunk, she defended herself. Drunk, and desperate to forget, and — she shook off the memory, addressing him in a belligerent tone to quell the sudden taste of panic. "Are you playing the match tomorrow?"

He tilted his head, watching her. "You know I am."

"I happened to overhear something at work tonight. Something I think may be of direct relevance to you."

Finally, there was a sign of some deeper interest than idle curiosity. With a sigh, he pushed away from the wall and shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. "Go on."

As briefly as she could, she told him of the conversation she'd eavesdropped on. It was a frustrating effort. The two men had been circumspect in their speech, only hinting at what they meant, which made it harder to recall the exact words they'd used, and while Smith seemed uncomfortable, he also looked more sceptical the further she got into her tale.

"You know," he said. "All of this sounds extremely general."

"It didn't, in context. It sounded specific in a rather unpleasant way."

"And they said my name?"

"They described the personality of the player in question in highly unflattering terms. I was inferring," she said without blinking, and looked right into his eyes as an angry flush crept into his cheeks.

"Charming as always, Bell. They didn't even mention the teams by name, did they?"

"No, but what other match could it be? The national league is on its seasonal break, and if there are any other matches ahead that involve a lot of money, I haven't heard of them."

At that, he did look uneasy, and Katie slowly let out a breath, realising that she'd finally made a dent in his thick skull. Good. She could back out, then, and let him take care of his own problems.

"That's all I've got," she said. "Do with it whatever you will. The Aurors should hear you out, at the very least. Or just don't take sweets from strangers until the match is done. Or, you know, suit yourself. Good luck."

His eyes widened and he took a step towards her and closed his hand around her lower arm, just as she started to leave. "What the hell do you mean, good luck? You can't just drop a goddamn dungbomb in my lap and waltz off like nothing happened! You owe me at the very least an—"

"I owe you _nothing_ , Smith!" Anger ignited in her so fast she was all but snarling at him, baring her teeth as she shook off his hand. "If anything, I owe you for my incredibly exciting future as a paper pusher in the bowels of the Ministry! As far as I'm concerned, I've done my minimal duty as a human fucking being by telling you what I heard, and I'm more than happy to wash my hands of you!"

He shook his head impatiently. "I wasn't the one who snitched on you to Anders. I don't know how many times you need me to tell you—"

"I need you to tell me nothing. I need you to shut the hell up!" She was shaking. "You were adamant that you were going to tell him. I was an idiot for believing that you'd be decent enough to wait the three days I asked for. It was just a promise, right? No more worth standing by than a pledge to fight against You-Know-Who alongside your friends. Your given _word_ , for you, Smith, is just something to run away from as fast as you can when you see a more selfish angle for yourself!"

He'd been looking at her as though she were crazy, but his face reddened when she alluded to the Battle. "I never gave a fucking pledge to anyone," he said hotly. "Besides, I..." He swallowed, audibly, but swung back at once. "I fought in my own way!"

Katie laughed when he stumbled over the words, feeling triumphant and slightly sick to her stomach to have managed to get a hit in where it stung. "Right. Just keep telling yourself that. Doesn't change the fact of you taking off in the opposite direction of the Battle, as fast as your shaking legs could carry you. I saw it with my own eyes, Smith." Her voice dripped contempt. "Some fighter you are."

For a moment he looked like he was about to lash out, his eyes flashing in defiance at her. But then, his jaw clenched hard and he pivoted on his heel and yanked the door open, slamming it shut behind him as he disappeared inside. Katie looked after him, the ferocity of her vicious outburst still burning at the pit of her stomach. She felt unsettled by that, and pettily irritated that she hadn't been the one to get to leave. Breathing out an oath under her breath, she gripped her wand and Apparated home to the flat.  
  


***

  
Leanne was in full swing with cooking dinner — the Muggle way she'd learned from her parents and insisted on doing despite all of Katie's well-meant advice — when Katie arrived. She took one look at Katie, pushed her down into a chair by the kitchen table and poured her a glass of red wine. "Another muddy day in the trenches? Want to tell me details, or suppress it all?"

"The latter," Katie said morosely. "If only I could."

"Baddock steamrolled over you again?"

"Steamrolled?" Katie took a big gulp of her wine. "Wizarding-translate, please?"

"Sorry. I'm asking if he made you feel as though you'd been flattened like a pancake by something akin to a set of giant rolling baking pins," Leanne replied, not missing a beat. 

"Um, no. He does that most days, but not today." She shook her head and gave Leanne a bemused look. "Muggle is weird."

Leanne grinned. "I'll show it to you on the laptop when we're at my mum's some time. Believe me, it's not something you want to be caught under. Much like Baddock himself."

They glanced at each other with matching grimaces, and both burst out laughing. Katie took a pencil that lay on the table and threw it at her friend with an exclamation of disgust. "Thank you for planting that visual in my head. I was nauseous before, but now I think I'm actually going to be sick."

"Looks aren't everything," said Leanne in mock pious tones.

"Right, but on top of the catfish physique, he's got a shark personality, too. I think I'll pass." Katie took another large swallow of her wine, feeling the heat of it spread through her body, ever so welcome. She groaned and let her head fall forward by its own weight. "I happened to overhear something weird at work today. At the time it sounded sinister, but now... I don't know, I'm starting to think I may have got things out of context and completely overreacted. And as a result of that I've probably made a giant idiot of myself." 

"To whom?" asked Leanne, at once homing in with unfailing instinct on the basic source of her misery.

"Someone I utterly begrudge that satisfaction." She felt Leanne's steady gaze on her and capitulated with a sidelong look and a sigh. "Zach Smith."

"Ouch." Leanne grimaced. "But really... so what? He's a proven coward and a pureblood bigot to boot, never mind how shabbily he treated you. Who cares what he thinks of you?"

"I do," Katie said, "apparently. For reasons purely to do with personal pride." She eyed Leanne, who always looked conflicted when the subject of Smith came up. While Leanne agreed he was a slimy git — who wouldn't? — and that it had been lousy of him to go behind Katie's back and report the fainting spells to the management, Katie suspected that deep down Leanne was grateful that Katie had been found out and had been summarily put on the ground and kicked off the team. And while Katie could appreciate that her friend's reasons stemmed from concern, it made her feel hurt and resentful, all the same, which Leanne no doubt knew her well enough to pick up on.

Leanne patted her hand awkwardly. "You can always kill him. Real friends help you bury the evidence, you know, and... well, here I am."

"Don't joke about such things." Katie pressed a hand against her forehead. 

Leanne frowned. "Katie, what's the matter?"

She took a deep breath and quickly told her the same story she'd told Smith. Leanne actually got the same look on her face as he'd got as he'd processed the whole thing: at first troubled, then increasingly sceptical.

"It's probably nothing," Leanne replied at last. "Just your imagination running wild. I mean... there are no solid facts, only vague circumstances. Perhaps they've got some money bet on the result of the match and things just sounded worse than they were."

"I know, I know. I just... I feel weird not doing more to find out. Even if Smith is an absolute shit-heel."

"You told him all you heard," Leanne pointed out. "He's free to do exactly what he will with it."

"Yeah, that's what I told him," Katie said with a heavy sigh. It sounded reasonable, but she still felt bad, and moreover enormously irritated that she felt bad.

"Sleep on it, and if you're still worried in the morning, go to the Auror office. Hell, if Smith's been there to talk to them, maybe they'll contact you on their own. They're better equipped for assessing what's going on, if anything." Leanne sniffed into the air, then turned to the stove again with a tutting sound of dismay. "Um. In the mood for cremated pork chops?"

Katie tipped her head back and dredged the last drops from her glass. "Let's go to the Leaky and get burgers. And more wine."  
  


***

  
_May 1999_

It was a gorgeous spring night, and she'd stayed behind on the pitch after practice, vaulting and doing rolls and climbs in the sweet, cool air...

Pushing herself, challenging, her mind tensely aware, trying to catalogue and learn the warning signs. Trying to learn so she might _use_ those signs and adapt coping strategies, tactics to resist the darkening dizziness that increasingly often bloomed behind her eyes when she was up in the sky, the numbness in her hands and feet that rushed in to take her body and slammed at the back of her skull. 

She was afraid, of course. But she was too angry, too desperate to listen to that frantic little voice of so-called common sense.

She rose and rose in the sky, zooming towards the setting sun, and then abruptly turned the nose of her broom down and allowed herself to fall freely for long, tumbling seconds, watching the ground rush up to meet her. She yanked the broom handle to the side and went careening over the pitch, skidding sideways as if on black ice, but still in control, still master of the broom and her own body, and her heart raced faster in triumph; her shoulders relaxed with relief. 

_Maybe it's just my imagination. Maybe it isn't really that bad._

Then faintness engulfed her like an icy, jagged wave from behind. Everything went black for an instant, and there was no time for coping strategies. There was barely a moment for fear as she threw numb arms around the broom and embraced nothing but air. She screamed, screamed like in the dreams. Blue sky and green pitch toppled over and over and she knew she was falling, with nothing to stop her crashing impact with the ground. And then she didn't even know that.

_Bell, are you all right? Damn it... Katie! Open your eyes if you can hear me!_

Unwillingly, her eyes blinked open. The sight of Smith's face made her squeeze her eyes shut in helpless protest. Not him.

"What the hell happened, up there? Did you faint, or what?"

"It's nothing," she managed thickly. "Just a... stomach bug. Leave me alone."

"Like fuck," he said, his eyes flashing anger but his voice cool. "That wasn't nothing. You've been dizzy at practice too, haven't you? And something happened at that match against the Falcons. It's not just a stomach bug; it's been happening for weeks, especially when you do free-fall manoeuvres. I've kept an eye on you."

Rage rose like bile in her throat, and she pushed at his chest. Her arms were still weak, but he let go at once and lowered her to the ground, and she supported herself on knees and hands, gasping. Only then did she realise that he'd been cradling her in his arms, had probably scooped her out of thin air like some bloody damsel in distress before she met the killing ground. It made her only more furious. Fury was better than giving in to the despair that was making her chest constrict.

"Just because I fucked you once, doesn't give you the right to _keep an eye_ on me, Smith!"

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Actually, I think it was the other way around. In fact, the way I remember it, you were writhing against me, _begging_ me very prettily to fuck _you_. 'Harder', wasn't it?"

"I was drunk," Katie spat out, and he laughed. She glared. "I hate you."

"Fair enough." The laughter hadn't ever reached his eyes, and now it simmered right down. "When are you going to tell Anders?"

"It's none of Tom Anders' business that you and I—"

"Don't be stupid. When are you going to tell our god damned Captain that you're having blackouts in the air?"

She bristled. "I can handle it."

"Like you handled it just now?" He shook his head. "Have you even seen a Healer about this?"

"Of course!" She'd never been a very good liar. Smith sneered, and she spoke through clenched teeth. "You stay the hell out of this!"

He shook his head. "If you're not telling Anders, I will. I'm not quite complacent enough to watch someone try to commit suicide right in front of my eyes without intervening."

"You want me to believe you'd raise a finger to help anyone besides yourself? That's rich."

His jaw tightened and for a moment he looked like he wanted to shake her. "All right, if it pleases you better, you're gambling with the team's chances by withholding something like this." 

"For Christ's sakes, I'm just wearing down the stupid reserve bench! I'm not even playing all the practice games, let alone actual matches!" He looked unmoved, and panic seized her. "Please," she said. "Give me three days and I'll tell him myself, all right? Just a few days to sort things out. I'll see a Healer."

Smith looked sceptical, but finally nodded curtly. "If you swear you'll stay on the ground for that time. Make up an excuse if you have to."

He waited, pointedly, for her reply, and she looked at him with loathing. "Fine."

"Good." He swung himself up on his broom, taking off into the sky with a reckless nonchalance that made her want to scream. That had been her, up until just a few months ago. She'd never known how good she had it, until it was gone.  
  


***

  
_December 1999_

Katie Apparated home from the Leaky, mostly steady on her legs. Leanne had left with Kenneth Towler, her boyfriend, whose flat she usually slept at these days, but before she'd left she had firmly taken Katie's third drink back to the bar and exchanged it for water. Katie, although she had groused at her friend, knew that she was right. She was able to take the day off tomorrow after her stint of overtime tonight, but the point was rather that she'd become a little too tempted to numb her mind with drink at nights.

Because thinking was scary. But the thoughts were still lurking there at the back of her mind, even if a glass of wine or three could stave them off for some hours.

She found her balance coming out of Apparition, and strode up the gravel path to the front door of the house. She almost jumped out of her skin when someone stepped out of the shadows.

Zach Smith looked pale in the lamplight, and watchful as he faced her. She sighed and stopped there, glaring at him. "I told you I was done with—"

"I just wanted to stop by and tell you that I went to the Aurors. They're going to investigate, but they didn't think it was anything serious." Smith eyed her coolly, but his hand was hovering near the hilt of his wand as though he thought she'd draw hers and throw a hex at him.

"Fine," she said. Even though she didn't let it show, she was relieved that the matter would be looked into. It alleviated her own uneasy conscience — she hadn't completely been able to convince herself that what she'd overheard had been harmless. "Did you give them my name?" While she hoped she wouldn't be interrogated about what she'd heard, it was probably inevitable.

"Of course. They didn't think they'd need to talk to you, but if an Auror knocks on your door, you know what it's about." He gave her a little smirk, and Katie was starting to feel creeped out. He acted kind of odd. She wouldn't think Smith was the sort to stalk or harass women, but it actually made her uncomfortable to have him hovering there, looking at her like that. She nodded and inched past him, walking towards the door.

"It's late. I should be calling it a night," she said shortly.

"All right. You... can relax about this, then. The whole thing is in safe hands."

"I've got the point, I think." She turned on the doorstep, frowning at him. "You're not going to hang around here, are you?"

He laughed. He definitely sounded... off, somehow. As if he'd been munching on the wrong mushrooms. "I don't think so." Slowly, he turned to leave. His hand was still at the hilt of his wand, his knuckles white.

She didn't know how, but it hit her out of the blue. She must have made a noise, because he turned, drawing his wand, but she already had hers at the ready as she threw herself behind a small cypress hedge and pointed the tip at him. "Expelliarmus," she yelled, and then, " _Finite Incantatem!_ ," as forcefully as she could.

The effect was instantaneous. His knees buckled as the wand flew from his fingers, and in the next moment he kneeled on the frosty shingle, dropping his face into his hands. He was panting as if he'd run a mile. Katie crawled out of hiding, rose up in a crouch and ran to get at his wand. She didn't feel safe before she'd hurled it far off into the darkness of the neighbour's hedge with her best Chaser's throw.

"Fuck," he said, and let his hands fall. He was white as a sheet. "How did you know?"

"Because I've been under Imperius, too," Katie said. Her voice was shaking despite her best efforts. "I hardly remember anything of my own, but I can guess at how it makes you look and sound." The strange, intense focus, the numb removal. "Who did this to you?" 

"Don't know him. He was small, in his forties perhaps. Thin face, grey robes. He told me what to do, to lose the match for the Arrows. And to discreetly take care of anyone who guessed something was up." 

Katie felt the hairs at her nape stand on end. _She_ 'd guessed. That's why he'd come here tonight. That's why his hand had hovered at his wand. How had he managed to resist the order he'd been given? "You did better against the curse than I did," she said quietly.

"Only because you'd warned me. I was suspicious as he approached me, so I managed to brace myself, just this small corner of my mind. It wasn't easy. It got harder every second." Smith clenched his jaw and got up on his feet. 

"You didn't really contact the Aurors, did you?"

"No. But I have to. There are others involved in the scam, too." He looked stricken as he said it, as though the seriousness of it was only hitting him now that he was free of the curse. "Shit. It's going to be a nightmare for the club."

"We have no solid proof. Although perhaps their experts will be able to still detect a trace of the Imperius on you, at least." Katie pressed her lips together, thinking. "I'll try to get hold of Harry first, all right? He's a trainee Auror, but he's got his boss's ear, I think, and a lifetime's worth of goodwill. He'll listen to us, and they will listen to him."

Smith grimaced at Harry's name, and she shook her head. "Don't tell me you're that petty."

"He'll listen to you, maybe," he said with a sneer. "Not me."

"Good thing we're telling the same tale, then." She raised her wand. " _Accio_ Smith's wand!" It came flying into her hand, and she snatched it instinctively behind her back as he reached for it.

While he did look put out, he lowered his hand at once. "Fine. Hang on to it until someone's declared me free of the fucking Imperius." 

She couldn't help but feel some sympathy. "It's awful, isn't it? Like... some parasite took you over, brain, body, everything."

He nodded, looking queasy. Katie lowered the wards and walked inside, looking over her shoulder for him to follow. "It's upstairs. There's a Floo in the living-room."

They took off their boots and cloaks, and she went straight to the floo, throwing in the powder and calling out for 12 Grimmauld Place. It took a good couple of minutes before Harry answered the call, hair on end and eyes at half mast. "Katie? Sorry," he muttered thickly, "sleeping off a shift."

"It's important," Katie said, "or I wouldn't have bothered you at home."

"Nah, it's fine. We never get to catch up."

"This isn't exactly that," Katie said grimly, and went on to describe the day's events. Harry woke up perceptibly as she described the conversation she'd overheard, and seemed alert as a green-eyed cat on the prowl by the time she told about Smith's Imperius.

"Crap," he said. "Definitely looks like they're rigging the match. I'll get hold of someone at the office and come straight over to take your statements. Smith's still at your place?"

"Yup," Katie said, glancing over at Smith who lounged long-limbed on her couch, scowling at Harry's apparition in the floo grate.

"Keep him there. Stupefy him if necessary. We'll be there soon."

"Stupefy him," Smith mimicked as Harry's image fizzled out. "Why don't you tie me up in the corner like a misbehaving dog? I'm sure he'd be delighted."

"Well, you know, maybe Harry's got some experience with seeing you bolt when things get tough," she said sharply. Her nerves were on edge, and she was fed up with the boyish bickering and little inclined to admit that Harry'd not been too tactful, either. 

Colour bloomed in Smith's cheeks as though she'd physically slapped him. "I forget," he said with a tight, tired smile after a moment. "Every Gryffindor ever born knows better what's going on with me than I do myself."

"Fuck, I... sorry. Sorry." Katie had regretted the sarcastic comment the moment she saw the look on his face. Damn, his hands were shaking. He'd just come out of Imperius, and while she had no experience with how that felt — in her case the cursed necklace had, as it were, stolen the Imperius's thunder — she could imagine that it was a nasty shock. "That was... unnecessary. Listen, can I get you a drink? Ale? Firewhisky?"

"Firewhisky," he said immediately. Katie got up and walked to the kitchen and poured a generous two fingers for him and one for herself. He took the glass from her and tipped it back in three long swallows, exhaling on a shudder and wiping his mouth as he set the glass down on the coffee table. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and glanced at her. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"You're welcome." She sipped at her own glass and watched him as he sank back on the couch, looking more relaxed. "You said there were others involved. Other players on the team?"

"At least one other player and... others. Management, or referee, perhaps. I wasn't told names. My job would be to keep our score down, so I reckon the others may not be Chasers. Whoever it is, this completely sucks." He looked worried, dismayed and angry, and Katie nodded, empathising with all of those emotions. This would be a terrible blow for the club. Not that a club as old as the Arrows would go under because of a rigged game scandal, but depending on how deep the corruption went, the taint would stick to it for a good while.

"Yeah, I know." She gave him a lopsided, sardonic smile. "Almost glad I'm not playing, now."

He met her gaze. "I'm sorry about that, you know. Damn sorry. You're a solid player, never any nonsense. I've always thought you were good; I did even at Hogwarts." He flushed slightly and continued before she could reply. "And yeah, I would have gone to the Captain if you hadn't come clean, but I intended to give you those three days so you could approach them on your own and make a better case for yourself." He shook his head. "It wasn't me who gave you up, Bell; I swear it. No matter what you think of me, I don't go back on my word."

For the first time, she felt an inkling of doubt. He looked sincere, those blue-green eyes holding hers, unwavering. She dropped her gaze and shrugged. "It doesn't matter, any longer. Even if I'd gone to tell them myself, I wouldn't have been playing again. How the hell could they keep a player who can't do the most basic tackles and manoeuvres in the air?"

"That's the Healers' verdict?"

"Yep. Anything involving free falls or fast drops can trigger it. It's a surprise, late-onset souvenir of Draco Malfoy's present to me in my seventh year." Katie didn't even bother to hide the bitterness from her voice. She reached for her glass again and tipped back most of her drink, to wash away the taste of the name from her mouth. She loathed Malfoy. She had testified against him in the war tribunal and never spared him a glance. Whether he regretted the action was inconsequential to her. Even more so now that she'd experienced the full extent of it.

He was silent for some seconds, apparently digesting that. She didn't doubt that he realised exactly how bad it felt — Smith was as obsessed with the game as she was. "Can you fly, at all?" he asked at length. "If you don't do free falls and fast drops?"

"Yeah. Anything boring is allowed." She grinned at him, fierce, mirthless. "Don't say it, I'm sure I'll learn to appreciate recreational flying in time."

"I wasn't going to say it. It sucks big time, no question." He frowned. "It's — three years, isn't it, since you got hurt by the necklace? Has everything been fine until now?"

"Mostly. Of course, I had the big hole in my memory. Small parts of it have come back to me, but just in fragments, and nothing that happened after I touched the necklace." She shrugged. "Apart from that, nightmares. I dream that I'm screaming, falling. They have become rarer after I stopped playing, though. I haven't had one in months, now." Her nonchalant delivery didn't betray just how terrifying those dreams were.

He nodded. "Nothing else?"

"Migraines, not often, but bad ones. And... well, you know—"

She broke herself off mid-sentence, blushing fiercely as she realised what she'd been about to blurt out. She looked at her glass and set it down on the table with a clatter, horrified and fully blaming the drink for her loose tongue. She should have known better than to drink bloody Firewhisky on top of what she'd had earlier both at home and at the pub; on top of this whole surreal night.

Her reaction clearly intrigued Smith, though. He leaned forward on his elbows, tilting his head a bit as he studied her. "Sex?" he asked after some seconds' silence, as though it were a completely reasonable subject to broach.

Her face felt even hotter. She wanted to deny it, but the longer she grasped for words, the more clearly the cat was out of the bag. "Has anyone ever told you that you possess a stupefying lack of tact?" she asked, finally, giving him a withering look.

"Ad nauseam," he said, flashing her a quick grin. "I can't say I noticed anything amiss that night. You're telling me you... didn't enjoy it?"

How like a man to focus on points for his own performance. Katie looked at him, irritated. "I did, for the most part, so if you're planning some bruised ego dramatics you can forget about it right now."

"Aha." He didn't even acknowledge the jibe. He was like a dog with a bone. "What kind of damage are we talking about, then?"

She rolled her eyes, and almost enjoyed throwing the truth at him. "I faked it, Smith."

He did a double take, and she could see him adding the factors up. "You haven't had an orgasm in... wait, three years?"

"Nope," she said cheerfully. "I've faked them all."

"The one with me as well?"

"I'm particularly proud of that one."

She was prepared for him to sulk or rant, but he only rubbed his hand pensively over his chin. "Now that you mention it, I think I _did_ wonder. I hadn't expected you to be the overly loud type, is all."

Katie's jaw dropped. That had been the best orgasm she'd ever faked, and not only did he want to have her believe he'd noticed something was amiss; he was actually critiquing her performance? Indignation flared in her. "You're such a smug git, Smith," she snapped, grabbing her wand and firing off an impulsive stinging hex.

He ducked aside and the hex barely missed Harry's midriff as he stepped out of the Floo. Fortunately, after his initial, very loud, "What the fuck?!", he was quite understanding once he learned that the hex had been meant for Smith.  
  


***

  
Harry's superior, Alan Proudfoot, followed right at his back, and after getting the story from Katie and Smith, Proudfoot sat back in his chair for a moment and took it all in with a low, impressed whistle. He took Harry aside into the hall and they discussed in low voices. Then, things happened fast. Proudfoot barked through the Floo for someone to arrive with a bottle of Polyjuice ready for use, and apparently the Auror Office kept such rare yet practical potions at hand, because it took only five minutes for a young Auror to arrive with it.

"Harry will take your place from now on until the game, Mr Smith." Smith started to protest, but Proudfoot ignored that and charged on. "He won't actually play for you. That match isn't going to happen, plain and simple. The whole cup may be compromised, and tomorrow's match certainly is. When they contact you again tomorrow, Harry will be able to find out who else is involved, at least enough of it to let us follow the trail and surprise them. It was a stroke of good luck indeed that Miss Bell heard what she did." He gave Katie a grimly satisfied nod.

Then he turned to Smith again. "A hair from your head, please." He walked up to him and pulled a hair out without ceremony. Smith winced and scowled. Proudfoot slipped the hair into the bottle of Polyjuice, and it changed to a golden-green colour, like sweet French liqueurs. Katie had a bad hunch it wouldn't taste like that, though.

Harry, once such a little runt, was roughly the same height as Smith, but with a heavier build — muscular through torso, hips and thighs where Smith was wiry and lanky. He shrugged off his Auror robes and glanced down at himself, experimentally testing the snug fit of his jumper and trousers. "Please hold up my pants if they start to fall off," he said to Katie with a glint of humour in his eyes, before he took a deep breath and tipped back the contents of the bottle. He grimaced when he was done and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "You taste better than Greg Goyle, Smith, I'll give you that much."

"There's so much wrong with that statement, Potter," Smith drawled, and Katie wasn't sure whether Harry was going to laugh or say something snarky back, because in that moment he doubled over and groaned as his body started to ripple and change. She had to avert her eyes. It looked unnatural and wholly, grossly unpleasant, but when she glanced back after half a minute, a Zacharias Smith number two stood in Harry's place, tightening his belt to fit his narrow hips. The jumper fit his shoulders reasonably well, but hung loose around his waist. 

"Never mind that," Proudfoot said impatiently, "you'll Apparate straight to Smith's place and change into his clothes. Mr Smith, please tell us your wards?"

Smith reluctantly gave them up, glancing uneasily at his Polyjuiced double all the while. Harry was pushing long blond locks back from his face with an exasperated gesture that made Katie bite back a laugh in the midst of all the tension.

Proudfoot scribbled down the wards in a notebook. "Do you two have a place to stay safely out of sight and out of trouble for the next twenty-four hours or so? Together would be practical. We'll send you an owl when it's clear." 

Katie hesitated, considering her options. Her Muggleborn mother and Halfblood father had re-located to the other end of the globe after the war, having had enough of British blood conflicts for a lifetime. A Portkey to Australia was probably not what Proudfoot had in mind, and she wasn't very close to any of her relatives still in Britain. That left Angelina and Al, who were both with their families, and she just couldn't foist herself _and_ Smith onto either of them. And they were the only ones besides Leanne that she could have imposed on without thought. She wasn't _that_ chummy with Oliver, George and the rest.

"I've got somewhere," Smith said. "A cottage near Lymington, summer place of the family of a friend of mine. They'd let me stay there, no problem." He looked at Katie, who'd remained silent. "Justin's parents," he explained. 

That took her by surprise. She'd always assumed Smith would hold himself too good to mix with Muggles. But now that she gave it a moment's thought, he hung out with Justin, who was Muggleborn, and didn't seem to have a problem with that. Why had she never reflected on that before? Because it was easier to ignore the facts that didn't fit in with her concept of him, probably. Katie felt weirdly unsure, hesitating before she replied. "They don't know me, though. Wouldn't they mind?"

"No," he stated, with such certainty that she realised he _was_ , without a question, assured of her welcome.

"Fine," she said, her tone short, still struggling to adjust to this new information about Zach Smith. "I need to pack a few things."

"I do, too," Smith said.

"You're not going back to your flat tonight." Proudfoot's tone of voice brooked no argument.

"You'll just have to live without your curling iron for a day, Smith," Harry-Zacharias said.

"I've got natural waves," Smith said, glaring at Harry. "I'd like to have my toothbrush and a change of clothes, that's all. Some of us weren't raised by wolves."

"No," Harry said, "I've always suspected that _some_ of us were raised by cockroaches."

Smith smirked. "At least, some of us never sucked off Greg Goyle."

"I didn't—" Harry started indignantly, only to have Proudfoot quash the discussion with a booming, irritated, _Potter_! 

Katie listened, half amused, to the bickering, as she dipped into and out of the bathroom and her bedroom, collecting her own toothbrush and change of clothes, a few basic toiletries and the sturdiest, least sexy pyjamas she owned. When she came back, Harry had left, and Proudfoot was urging them to get a move on. Katie left a hastily scribbled note for Leanne. They put on their boots and coats again and Katie gave Smith his wand, and hesitantly her hand. He gripped it, giving it a firm, gentle squeeze that sent a rush of unexpected heat into her body and her face. "Ready?" he asked. She nodded, and he Apparated them away.

They landed on the paved central path of a large, formal garden with marble statues dusted with snow. Ahead of them rose a stately brick house, a glowing rosy colour in the softly falling snow. Lights were on in a few of the windows, but most of them were as dark as the night around.

"They're probably asleep," Katie said. It was getting close to midnight, and she hunched her shoulders and looked with some trepidation up at the rather imposing house.

"Not John — that is, Mr Finch-Fletchley," he said with a quick glance at her. "Nervous? No need to be. When you meet Justin's parents, you'll understand at once why he was sorted into Hufflepuff."

" _You_ are a Hufflepuff, Smith."

He grinned. "It takes all kinds." He was still holding on to her hand, and she was sufficiently intimidated by the prospect of waking up posh strangers in the middle of the night and asking for lodgings that she wasn't pulling hers away just yet. He tilted his head at her. "Can I ask you a favour?"

She eyed him, immediately cagey. "Maybe?"

Her reaction amused him, apparently. "Call me Zach. It would be a really refreshing change."

She hadn't expected that. "Maybe," she said again, reluctantly, feeling like she'd been asked to sign a contract without reading the fine print. He raised his eyebrows at her, and she shrugged. "All right, I'll try it out."

"And may I call you Katie?" This request was formal, teasingly so, but with a serious undertone. Katie dropped her gaze and let go of his hand, stuffing both of hers into her pockets. "You could try it," she said, "see if your head is still on your shoulders afterwards." His eyes widened, and she gave him a very small, very tentative smirk. "Joke. You may call me Katie. Shall we go up there? It's not getting any earlier."

He nodded and led the way up the path and the broad, snow-dusted stone steps to the cobbled drive in front of the house. Katie stayed at his side but fell back a step or two as they climbed the front steps and Smith — all right, Zach — rang the bell.

There was a melodious chime inside, the sound of measured steps, and an elderly man opened the door and peered out. "Yes? Oh, Mr Smith." He appeared surprised, but quickly recovered. "Justin is not at home, I'm afraid, and Miss Zinnia has gone to bed. Would you like me to get Mr Finch-Fletchley for you?"

"Please," Zach said. "Thanks. I know it's very late. Has he gone to bed, too?"

"Mr Finch-Fletchley is working in the library." The man finally noticed Katie, and immediately opened the door wider, stepping aside. "Miss, excuse me. Mr Smith. Please come inside."

He disappeared to get Justin's father, and Katie stood beside Zach in the large, posh hallway, when a voice hailed them from above. "Zach! Why are you here so late? Who's that?"

Zach and Katie both looked up. Half a floor up, a face appeared over the railing of the broad mahogany stairs, retreated, and then a girl flew down the stairs, her morning robe flapping open over an oversize T-shirt and furry slippers. She threw herself without ceremony around Zach, looking at Katie curiously over his shoulder and hugging him harder when he groused and tried to shift her.

"Enough of that," he said gruffly and brushed down his robes. "Shouldn't you be in bed, twerp?"

"I was. And it's my holidays, dork." The girl was about thirteen or fourteen, tall and gangly, all awkward elbows and knees, her hair dark blonde in a pixie cut. She glanced at Katie. "Who?"

" _'Who?'_ " Zach rolled his eyes as he mimicked her nonchalant voice, though Katie could see his lips twitch at the corners. "Aren't they supposed to teach you some bloody manners here?"

"Yeah, whatever." Still watching Katie curiously, the girl tugged on her T-shirt, which had a large black-and-white print of a mouse. Katie knew the name of the mouse: Mickey. Leanne had told her that Muggles watched movies about him.

"Zinnia," Zach said, "this is my friend, Katie Bell. Katie, please meet my sister, Zinnia Pain-in-the-Arse Smith."

The girl kicked at his shin, and he tackled her under his arm. Katie was having some problems with manners herself, staring from the girl to Smith. "You have a Muggle sister?" she blurted.

"Squib," said the girl from her position bent under Zach's arm.

"She doesn't have magic," Zach corrected with a frown, without letting her go.

Zinnia snorted. "It doesn't become something else because you say it with pretty words."

"Well, I don't like that word. It doesn't fit you."

"I'm re-claiming 'Squib'. Like gay people are re-claiming 'queer'. The Muggle ones, anyway." The girl, still firmly caught under Zach's arm, reached Katie her hand, craning her neck back to look up in her face. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Bell," she said in exaggeratedly polite tones.

"Just Katie, please." In the midst of her astonishment, Katie felt laughter bubbling up inside. If Zach was going to have a sister, Squib or not, this insolent little shit-stirrer was definitely it. "Glad to meet you, Zinnia."

Zinnia squirmed her way out of Zach's grip, just as a tall, dark-haired man entered the hall. "Now, now, children," he said, amused, and Zach flushed slightly. 

"I'm sorry to disturb all of you so late," he started. "I need to ask you a favour. It's rather complicated to explain, but there are some nasty affairs going on with my club right now, and the Aurors have asked me and Katie, here, to lie low for a day or so."

Mr Finch-Fletchley shook hands with Katie and greeted her formally, then frowned. "That sounds quite unpleasant. Are you in any... physical danger?" He dragged a hand back through his curly dark hair — exactly like Justin's with a few added strands of grey— and glanced at Zinnia. "Perhaps you should go back to bed," he suggested in the half-hearted tone of someone who knew he'd be ignored, and continued at once while Zinnia remained standing precisely where she was. "Of course, you two are very welcome to stay with us. I'll have guest rooms made ready at once."

"Actually," said Zach, "I was thinking of the cottage. The one where Ernie and I visited you last summer. I'd rather not stay here, just in case."

"Just in case of _what_?" Zinnia broke in, eyes lighting up with gleeful alarm. "Just in case dark wizards find you here and blast us all a mile into the sky?"

"Quite," Zach said dryly. " _You_ wouldn't be such a loss, of course, but I'd hate for John and Cecilia's kindness to be repaid in such a way." He dodged another kick aimed at his shin, and addressed Mr Finch-Fletchley again. "There's no need for worry, really. No one would think to look for me at the cottage, and Katie has no connections at all to the place. We just need to stay out of sight until tomorrow night."

"Well, it would be our pleasure," the other man answered. "Mr Henley?" he called, and after a few seconds, the elderly man entered the hall again. "Would you please get the keys to the Lymington house? Zacharias and Miss Bell will be staying there for a day or two." He turned to them again, smiling. "It will be cold when you arrive, this time of the year, but you can take care of that very quickly with magic, I presume."

"No problem," said Zach, patting his wand. Katie saw Zinnia follow the motion with her gaze, and couldn't help but wonder how the girl felt about the magic that was forever out of her own reach.

Zinnia glanced up again and Katie looked straight into eyes that were a darker version of Zach's blue-green, eyes that widened a bit, cool and appraising as she caught Katie watching her. Despite the girl's antics, her eyes seemed older than her years. Until they lit up with mischief again. 

"Or they can warm each other," Zinnia said slyly.

Katie blinked and stuttered, caught off guard and embarrassed to think that Zinnia might have noticed her pity. "We're... er, just—"

"Friends?" Zinnia smirked.

"Zinnia," Mr Finch-Fletchley said patiently. "You're making Miss Bell uncomfortable." But Zach was watching Katie.

"Are we?" he asked, his voice low.

"Er... maybe?" Katie said, by now completely bewildered, and blushed.  
  


***

  
The Lymington house was not as grandiose as she'd imagined it. In fact it was pretty standard cottage-sized, although far more luxurious than any cottage Katie had stayed in before. Zach unlocked the door and punched in a code on a sort of square with numbers by the door, to turn off an alarm, he explained, the Muggle equivalent to putting up wards. Katie had visited Leanne's parents several times, but they didn't have an alarm on their door. Perhaps she would suggest it to Leanne.

As Mr Finch-Fletchley had warned, it was cold, and they cast heating charms in the rooms they'd be likely to use, and then went about getting ready for bed. It was well past midnight, and Katie felt the effect of all the suspense and worry as well as the drinks she'd had. She wanted to ask Zach more about Zinnia, and how long she'd been staying with Justin's family, but when she'd finished using the bathroom, they simply exchanged weary nods and said goodnight.

And then, of course, she couldn't sleep, in the big, soft bed, in the unfamiliar and quiet house. There was a hum of an electric appliance somewhere. The noise was new enough to disturb her rest, but that was only part of it. She lay on her side, pillow tucked between cheek and shoulder, and thought of the improbable fact that she, Katie Bell, had been instrumental in uncovering a major sports swindling operation. She turned on her other side, and thought of the Appleby Arrows and how hard this would be for everyone she'd known and still liked on her former team. She rolled on her back, and lay with wide open eyes in the dark until her sight adjusted and she could glimpse the shapes of wall and ceiling, and thought of the open sky and of flying, and how much she loved it, and how it would never be the same now, and how much it fucking hurt, still.

She sat up with a groan, the covers falling around her waist. She thought of Zach Smith, now, Zach and his little Squib sister, and wondered about the things she didn't know about him.

Like why he'd run from the Battle. It wasn't as straightforward as it had been before, to just name him a coward and dismiss everything else.

Because everything else didn't fit with him being a coward.

The living-room was dark, but there was a light on in the kitchen. That was where the hum came from, too, the tall refrigerator cupboard. Katie followed the noise and the light, and found Zach sitting by the kitchen table with a tall glass in front of him, still in his jeans and t-shirt. He'd no pyjamas to change into, of course. 

He must have heard her quiet steps, because he only nodded when she appeared in the doorway. She ran a hand through her hair, self-consciously patting it down. "You couldn't sleep, either?"

"No. My mind's like an anthill." He studied her for some seconds and then gave her a lopsided grin and pushed out a chair for her with his bare foot. "Can I get you something?"

"What are you having?"

"Water."

"Works for me." She'd hoped it was something stronger, but she knew she shouldn't. She should stop drinking so much before it became more than a somewhat pitiful habit, and she should stop thinking the futile, frantic thoughts that made her drink so much. Right now, with company in the middle of the night, water was fine.

He placed a glass in front of her, wet on the outside, dewy. Her fingers slid through it without a pattern. "Thinking of the club?"

"Yes. And about who—" He didn't even conclude the sentence, but Katie knew. To be stabbed in the back in this way by a teammate, perhaps more than one teammate, perhaps people you'd been friends with and trusted, it must be the worst of it all. 

"I hope it's not Kristina," she said.

"I refuse to think it's her." He sat back tiredly. "How about you? Thinking of what an ass I am to have got you involved in something so un-festive at the turn of the millennium?"

"That, too," she said, though she hadn't, really. She smiled to mark it safely as a joke. Given their hostility until now, the ground between them felt slippery and uncertain. "I was thinking of... everything, I suppose. About the Arrows. And flying. And you, and Zinnia."

"Yeah?" He sat up again as though snapping to attention, and shot her an uncertain, sidelong glance, hunched over his glass. "I wanted you to know about her," he said. It sounded like a confession.

"Why?"

He smiled at that. "Because... you know, when you like a woman and she meets it with flaming dislike, that can be kind of... Sometimes, that works out. Passion of a different kind, you know? But when a woman you like holds you in absolute, cold contempt, that... That doesn't hold much possibility. And it gets to you. Especially when it's for something you didn't do, or that was out of your hands, anyway."

"I don't—" Katie stammered. She cleared her throat. "You _like_ me?"

"Mmm. Not that you've made it easy. But I can intellectually understand the reasons you don't think well of me, even if they're dead wrong. Mostly."

She snorted, and leaned back in her chair with her arms folded across her chest. It was easier to deal with this, his usual haughtiness. "I'm not wrong about you being an arrogant arse."

"No," he said peaceably.

"Or an obnoxious, self-important git."

"Ouch. No. Possibly not."

"But I was wrong—" She faltered for a moment. "About you being a blood bigot. And about that being the reason why you didn't fight against Voldemort. And I... I hope I was also wrong about you... running from the Battle because you were a coward." 

He shook his head with a wry little smile. "When you think about it, it wouldn't be both, would it? I might run because I was a blood fanatic and supported the enemy, or because I was a coward and too scared to fight him. But not both, that makes no sense."

Yeah, it didn't really. Yet she'd never cared to think that far. And she no longer believed it was either of those reasons. "Why is Zinnia living with the Finch-Fletchleys?" she asked carefully. She had a sense she was unravelling questions as intricate as those Harry and Proudfoot were investigating.

"Because the Ministry's program for integrating Squibs in Muggle society is shite. Because they're hugely ignorant about Muggle society to begin with. And I wanted something better for her than that."

"When did she come to stay with them?"

"After the war. My mother died in the last war year; she was caught in a skirmish in Diagon Alley that December, and... my father has always been ashamed of Zinnia, as the years passed on and she showed no sign of possessing magic. They divorced over her, four years ago. My mother took her, and my father got me. It seemed natural, I guess. He's a bastard. An arrogant arse and an obnoxious, self-important git." He grinned. "Like father, like son. I reckon my mother thought I was well equipped to look out for myself."

She closed her eyes briefly. "Zach—"

"Good, you're getting the hang of this 'Zach' thing. I'd expected it to take a while." He gave her a genuine smile, now. The beautiful smile generally reserved for Hufflepuffs and great wins, the one that reminded her of a night at the Three Broomsticks when she'd been after some cheap, no-strings distraction from her demons, and he'd been after... what?

"What happened," she asked, "after your mother died?"

He regarded her a moment longer, the smile lingering in his eyes before it faded. "My father still wanted nothing to do with Zinnia, so just before Christmas she was stowed away in some dreary old house in Muggle London that the Ministry keeps as a sort of halfway house for still-adjusting Squibs. When I visited her there during my Easter break, the woman who ran the place told me that two Death Eaters had been checking up on the house, bullying her for a list of the Squibs who lived there or who visited regularly. I guess if they despised Muggles, hated Muggleborns, they wouldn't hold a Squib in much regard, either. Fuck, that ate at me after I got back to school. I don't know what You-Know-Who meant to do about them eventually, but when the Battle started and I realised he'd very likely win for good that night, I grabbed my chance and ran; I ran to get her. She was the only one left there, you know? All the others had cleared out, maybe been taken care of by their kin, or, well, someone." His voice was tight and there was both anger and guilt in the gaze he levelled at Katie. "She was barely twelve, and she was there alone. I found out later the lady in charge had been shipped to Azkaban."

Katie felt her throat constrict. "I'm _so_ sorry," she whispered.

The sympathy seemed to catch him off guard, stop him in his tracks for a moment. He took a deep breath, then dropped his gaze and fidgeted with his glass. "I'd no clear idea how to get her safe, but I knew I wanted her out of the country and I knew where Justin was in hiding, so I Apparated us to him, and he took us to his parents before he went to join the battle. Mr Finch-Fletchley contacted one of his very, very wealthy friends and got us on a private craft to smuggle us into France, since we had no Muggle papers to enter the country." He laughed, but it sounded a bit hollow. "I was sitting in a wizarding café in Le Havre when I got word that You-Know-Who was dead. And I was glad, of course, when I finally dared believe it, but God, I knew even then that I was in for a world of grief."

"You could have told people," Katie said, aghast as the implications of what he'd just told sank in. Christ, the things she'd assumed about him, said aloud about him. "Honestly, you might have—"

"Why?" Some irritation crept into his voice. "I don't explain myself to idiots who hurl invective at me on the street or repeat petty slander behind my back. Nor do I feel the need to hold my little sister up as some sort of protective shield against that sort. My friends knew, those who mattered, and that was enough. The world doesn't revolve around Gryffindor approval, you know."

Katie couldn't help bristling a little. Perhaps because she knew she'd been 'that sort', too. "Don't tell me it was all Gryffindors who judged you."

He shrugged. "There's been a couple of 'Claws, even a stray Slytherin with a lot of gall, but you know what? For the most part, it's been Gryffindors."

Meeting his calm gaze, Katie felt entirely deflated. "I apologise, then, on behalf of myself and my house. What you did was brave by any sane definition of the word."

"Not to be contrary, but I don't think it was." He gave her a lopsided smile. "As far as I was concerned, I was doing my simple duty. She was my responsibility and I had no one else I could trust to take care of her. It was as pragmatic as that. But I accept your apology, of course, for yourself. You don't need to shoulder the stupid bravado of the entire House of Godric."

"Well, thanks," Katie said, a bit peevish, and he raised an eyebrow.

"I did feel the need to explain myself to _you_ , if you'll notice."

"Why?" she asked, and felt her heart beating a tad too fast as she waited for his answer.

"Because... _you're_ brave." He leaned back in his chair with a smirk, and ran a hand through his hair. "See, I _can_ appreciate the quality. You're gutsy and you're funny and you're damned cute. I've always admired you on the pitch, and when we got to play together, I liked your spirit. I liked how you could put your ego away and keep it about the team. Even from the reserve bench. I... well, I liked you. I still do."

She felt something clench in her stomach, hard as a fist. "Why? Most of those reasons are null and void now," she said bitterly. "I think even the reserve bench is out of my reach for the duration, and my team spirit has taken a fatal blow, I must say."

Zach's eyes narrowed, a little wary. "You're still the same person," he said, "even if circumstances have changed."

"I can't fly!" she burst out. "I told you. I can't _play_. Even if some miracle happens and my Healers give me the green light, what team would sign me up with this in my medical records? It was hard enough to get signed just with Malfoy's fucking necklace and months missing from my memory and no apparent effects. This... this—" She breathed out in a shaky rush. "It's not going away! And there's no pretending it doesn't change things. Doesn't change _me_."

"Of course it changes things. But playing's not what you _are_ , it's something you _do_. Sorry, did." He scrubbed a hand down his face. "Fuck. All right, I'm crap at this, but all I mean to say is that everything I liked about you, it's still valid. You're still all those things that made you a good player."

"And so what if I am? I never even got my proper chance." Suddenly the bitterness seemed to surge and overflow, pouring out, and maybe it was easier to say, or simply harder to hold back, because he'd just opened up to her, too. But it was scary as hell to hear the words, to hear herself say these self-pitying, selfish, petty things out _loud_. "It took me ages to find a team that would take me on, and when I did, I never even got to play a full game, and it wasn't even because I wasn't good enough. It was—" She exhaled harshly, and pushed her chair back and got up on her feet, alarmed by the despair welling up in her. "I'm... sorry, I'm just tired. It's been a crazy day and I drank too much and it's really fucking late, and... Goodnight, Smith."

"Zach," he said and rose up, too. She was already on her way out the door, and felt herself caught by a hand around her upper arm, turned around firmly to face him. His other hand closed around her jaw, gentle, and tipped her chin up, and she was so close to bursting into wrenching sobs that the muscles in her throat and stomach hurt, _burned_ with the effort of holding back. He studied her, his gaze holding hers until she squeezed her eyes shut. "Did you ever cry, Katie?"

"What's the point of crying?" she spat out. "Christ, what the hell would _that_ change?"

"Nothing, but you know," he said, almost conversationally, "you might just let it out. Just once. Let off some pressure."

"Because I'm a girl, you mean. As if _you_ would have cried. Well, women aren't as weak as you like to—"

"Look at me," he said, breaking her off with a sudden firmness in his tone that did make her eyes snap open. "If it had happened to me, if I'd made it onto a team and then been kicked off and told by Healers that I'd never in my life play again, might not ever go safely up in the sky again, I'd have taken a bottle of Firewhisky and gone somewhere I couldn't be seen or heard, because it wouldn't have been pretty, and if someone heard me or saw me anyway I'd have had to kill them, of course. You can kill _me_ afterwards, if you like. I'll take my chances. Fair warning, I probably suck at the comfort thing, but I think I can manage to shut up and hold you till you're done."

The blunt way he stated her situation almost knocked her knees away under her, and she took a deep, wet, frantic breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "You _arse_ , Smith, you bloody prat, as if I need _you_ to hold me, you don't know a fucking thing, it wasn't you it happened to, it was _me_ , that fucker did it to me and it's so god damned unfair and I hate it, hate it, I fucking hate it!"

Somewhere in the middle of the rant she realised she _was_ crying, shouting, sobbing out the obscenities, tears rolling down her face. She made a token, scrambling move to pull away, but when Zach tightened his arms around her with a sigh and held her close to his chest, she didn't even try any more, just allowed the sobs to take her after all the ugly, furious words had flown out of her head. Because it was scarily good to give in, and it was good to be held; it made her feel a little safer, as if she wouldn't be rent apart by the rage at the unfairness, the grief at the loss of her dreams. A warm hand rubbed up and down her back, slowly, surprisingly patient, as she cried and cried and cried. 

And true to his promise, through it all, Zach did shut up.  
  


***

  
She opened her eyes to find him watching her, quiet, his head turned to the side on the pillow. Zach's long hair was a snarled and tangled mess, and there was an imprint of the rumpled sheet on his cheek. His eyes were sleepy and a whiff of morning breath reached her.

There was no accounting for how all of that added up to 'sexy' in her mind. Of course, those long eyelashes shading blue-green eyes and the strong, lean lines of his bare shoulders and chest might have something to do with it. She wondered for a split second's alarm if he was naked and if more had happened in the middle of the night than she remembered, but then saw the edge of his jeans, just above the sheets that were rucked down around his waist.

"Morning," Katie said, self-conscious, wondering if she had sheet imprints on her face, too. She certainly had the dragon breath. "No Owl from the Aurors, yet? What's the time?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. It's only just past eight o'clock. But the match starts at two, so there's got to be news in before too long." He reached out a hand, stroked her hair away from her face. "Sleep all right?"

"Like a log." She made an awkward grimace. "The exorcism last night worked, apparently."

"And you haven't killed me yet, so there's that." He smirked at her, but turned serious again. "How do you feel? Hung over? Head hurts?"

"No, I... it's weird, but I feel fine. I must look awful, though."

"Nah. Eyes puffy, your face kind of blotchy. 's not too bad."

She reached up to her face in horror, then scowled as she saw his lips twitch. Growling, she smacked his shoulder. "Prat!"

He laughed. "You look beautiful," he said with a sincerity that stunned her. He leaned in and kissed her, soft and tentative, and she was too surprised to react in any way at all, just lay there quietly and catalogued the sensation. "How about another exorcism this morning?" he asked, looking right into her eyes. "There was this other thing that you're afraid to do."

Her stomach swooped, and she blushed fiercely. "Christ, Smith. Take it easy with the slow seduction, won't you?" 

"If I try to seduce you slowly, you'll be out of the room before I can get you out of your shirt, never mind your knickers. My new tactic is charge and pounce like a bloody Gryff," he said, and slid a hand under the covers, warm on her stomach. "Is it working?"

Judging by the rapid beat of her pulse and the sudden sweet throb between her legs, it was working almost too well. She put a hand lightly on top of his, closing her eyes a second as she felt his fingers edge under her rumpled pyjama top and slide up to tease at the lower curve of a breast.

"Zach." She sat up, and he let his hand fall to her thigh. "I refuse to even consider it before we've brushed our teeth."

His cautious expression was erased by a broad smile. "And then you'll consider it? That's a promise, yeah?"

Katie felt uncertain about the idea, but that smile was so irresistible she couldn't help giving him one in return. "I suppose I have nothing to lose by _considering_ it."

"I promise you," he said warmly, "nothing to lose at all." He gave her thigh a squeeze, and sat up too, then surprised her again by scooping her up in his arms and carrying her into the bathroom, nuzzling into her neck and laughing as she squirmed and snorted. She'd seen this playful side to him with Zinnia, so it wasn't a complete shock, but it was unexpected enough to disarm her completely. He was... damn it, he could be downright fucking charming when he wanted to, the dour prat.

He put her down on the bathroom floor, which was warm under their feet this morning, some electricity thing. Zach had flicked a few switches last night, muttering about how he hoped it would work. Katie curled her toes against the warmth, looking up at him and giggling at the sheet imprint on his cheek. He narrowed his eyes at her, then cast a glance at himself in the mirror and touched his face. "Crap. I look like an idiot."

"You look beautiful," she said, repeating his words to her without thinking about it, but something clenched in her chest with how much she meant it. He was gorgeous, with sleepy, laughing eyes and his hair a tousled mess on his shoulders, with the long sleek lines of his body and the trail of hairs from his chest down to the edge of his low-riding jeans.

"Men aren't beautiful," he said, side-eyeing her. But he was pleased, she could tell.

"I guess you must be a girl, then, Smith." She giggled again at his expression. "Go out, I need the bathroom. You can come in afterwards."

She used the loo, washed her hands and splashed water in her face, and then leaned in to the mirror to inspect the damage. The circles under her eyes told of the emotional toll of the night. She felt lighter, though, and she thought she looked it too, the tight tension drained from her face. Her hair was a mess, and she brushed through it with her fingers and then got her toothbrush and toothpaste out of her wash-bag and opened the door.

Zach rummaged in a set of small wicker baskets on a glass shelf and found an unopened toothbrush in plastic casing. "Blessed be the hospitality of the Muggle upper classes," he said, stole toothpaste from her and started brushing vigorously. He winked at her as he foamed at the mouth, looking so mad that she nearly sprayed her own toothpaste foam on the mirror and had to double over the sink and spit to save her dignity.

Zach chuckled while still brushing, and moved up behind her, spitting and rinsing too when she stepped to the side a bit. It was strange; normally she'd have found it awkward and icky to do something this personal with someone who wasn't a very close family member or friend. But there was a nearly palpable spirit of camaraderie between them this morning. They'd shared the dramatic experiences the day before, shared some extremely private confessions in the night, and now... well, they were both waiting for the fall-out of the Auror investigations.

Although Katie found it hard to keep those investigations in mind, with Zach standing behind her, smiling at her in the mirror as he rubbed her shoulders gently outside the thick flannel material of her pyjamas.

"This is meant as some kind of armour, isn't it?" he asked. "Least sexy girl pyjamas I've ever seen." But his voice was low and intimate and he didn't sound as though he found _her_ unsexy, not at all.

"Didn't want to give you any ideas," she admitted.

"Well, you failed. I have plenty of ideas. Actually, when it comes to sex my mind is a virtual cornucopia. It takes more than beige flannel to stump me."

Katie met his gaze in the mirror and, making a careful, conscious decision, allowed herself to lean back against him. He was warm, steady, and after a second's swoop in her stomach, she relaxed enough to let him take her weight. "What kind of ideas are those?"

"Obviously, they involve getting you _out_ of the beige flannel." His hands squeezed her shoulders, then moved to the front of her top and slipped a button free. Then another one. Another. She didn't stop him. Her face burned and her heart beat painfully hard, and she watched his fingers move down and a narrow strip of her pale winter skin appear between the flaps of the top. His hands brushed against her nipples as they worked their way down, and even through the sturdy material it sent spikes of arousal down between her legs, a hot, tightening thrum.

He slid the pyjama top slowly off her shoulders, his gaze seeking hers, seeming to check if she were all right. A small, hoarse noise of longing escaped from her throat, and his lips curved up just a fraction, more reassurance than smile as he pulled the sleeves down her arms and let the top fall to the floor. She expected him to touch her breasts, ached for it, but his hands spanned her waist instead, stroking her belly, smoothed over her hipbones and slid lightly up and down her ribs. Her nipples stiffened and tingled, and she let her head arch back on his shoulder, trying not to think too hard. "Zach," she whispered.

"I wanted to see, that night," he said softly, tracing the lower curves of her breasts with his thumbs. "I knew you'd be so fucking pretty."

"I... I just wanted to forget, that night," she said, almost apologetic.

"I'm not complaining. You were sexy as hell. Blew my mind." 

"What if I can't," she blurted. "It's been so long I'm not even sure I remember what it felt like. What if I freak out on you, what if something happens?"

"If you can't, that's okay. If you panic, we stop." His hands stilled on her breasts, and she wasn't sure whether she was relieved or frustrated. "You could die or damage yourself badly if you fall a hundred feet from your broom," he said slowly. "That's a very rational fear. But an orgasm doesn't kill you, or hurt you. It may feel like you're falling, but you don't actually fall. It's all in your body and mind."

She blushed. "I know that."

"Yeah, but do you believe it?" He kissed her ear, and wrapped his arms around her, rocking her playfully, soothing. "You know, it doesn't take a genius to figure this out. You were put under Imperius; you suffered a horrific curse and spent months in a coma. And then the blackouts started. When you've had your self control forced away from you, then letting go may be scary in other contexts, too. Did you ever speak to your Healer about it?"

"Hell, no, are you mad? You should see my Healer. Grizzled old fogey. No way." Katie gave a shaky laugh. "Are you saying that my hang-ups are trite and predictable?"

"And how." He grinned as she twisted to elbow him lightly in the side, and held on to her. "Hey, you should be glad. I'm just a hairy, stupid boy. If it had been something hellishly complicated, I wouldn't have had a chance to figure it out."

"It _feels_ hellishly complicated," she said with a sigh.

"Yeah, I get that. So I'm going to make it as easy for you as I can. Promise. If you want this, that is. If I'm out of line, just tell me now."

"I'd... really like it to be easy." Her voice sounded wistful, rather small, and she watched them both in the mirror. Her own eyes reflected the worry gnawing at the pit of her stomach, but Zach's expression was just serious. Warm. _He_ wasn't worried. He didn't take it lightly, but he seemed pretty sure that things would work out. That gave her the small injection of confidence she needed to nod, reach to unwrap his arms from around her body and place his hands on her breasts.

He needed no more encouragement than that. She gave a shuddering exhale as his thumbs grazed her nipples, back and forth, a light, deliberate tease. He took the stiff points between his fingertips and rolled them, twisting and tugging gently, and she pressed her face in against his neck and moaned. The ache between her legs made her move her hips restlessly, first pressing back against his hard frame, against the erection hardening against her bottom, then forward to try to catch some friction against the edge of the counter. He slid a hand down her belly, outside the front of her pyjama bottoms, lightly cupping her mound. Seeing it happen in the mirror made her mind spin, nearly as dizzying as the touches themselves. This was already more sustained, direct stimulation than she'd ever allowed during her scattered, random encounters over the past couple of years. She'd always gone for the near-brutal rush, the hard kisses and driving passion. Because that didn't leave men the space to wind up her body with these devastatingly specific touches that her mind wanted to interpret as danger.

"All right?" Zach murmured, his lips warm as they brushed the curve of her cheek. His hand seemed to burn her, nestled flat between her legs, and the fingers still toying with one of her nipples made everything so intense, made her almost sob for something more than the warm, pressing weight of that hand.

"I don't want to look in the mirror," she whimpered, although she couldn't tear her gaze away. "I... I can't, it's like one of Al's bloody Muggle pornos."

"Interesting information," he remarked with a quirk of his lips as he turned her away from the mirror.

"It's just too _much_ ," she tried to explain, and he shushed her tenderly and leaned down to kiss her.

She missed the hand between her legs, but she loved his lips against hers, his tongue in her mouth, his hands in her hair. God, Zach Smith knew how to kiss. Had they even, that other time? She had a fleeting memory of something heart-stoppingly gentle, a tentative hand cupping her cheek, something she'd rejected, and it made her wrap her arms tightly around his neck and kiss him back now for all she was worth. 

The first kiss led to more kisses, questing lips, sliding tongues. Slow and warm, wet and hungry. His hands never left her body, smoothing over her back, then tracing her spine. Gently squeezing her breasts, then curving over her hips. Katie found that they were out of the bathroom, in the bedroom again, with no clear notion of how they'd made it there. At the foot of the bed, he inched his hands under her pyjama bottoms and pulled them down, knelt before her and eased her knickers down, too. A nervous, small laugh tore from her throat as he lifted each of her feet carefully in his hand and helped her step out of the clothes bunched at her ankles. The cool air in the room hit her overheated skin and she was left shivering and bare.

"All right?" he asked again, still on his knees before her, leaning his head back as he looked up at her, supplicant. She nodded mutely, and his hands stroked up and down her flanks, transferring warmth to her where they touched. "You're gorgeous, Katie." There was something so young and soft over his face as he took her in with his gaze, wonder in his eyes. They were grown-ups, both of them, wartime survivors and perhaps older than their years, but right this moment she felt like a young girl with a young boy for the first time, excited and awed and unsure.

With his fingers curving over her hips, he guided her to the edge of the bed and coaxed her to sit and then recline back onto the mattress. She was still shivering, and he took his wand and cast a series of heating charms that made her sigh in gratitude. She could feel the goose-pimples settle and leave her skin as she relaxed, and she watched him, her breath tensely held, as his hands closed over her knees and slid them open around his hips. He lifted her thighs onto his shoulders and kissed her inner thigh, nuzzled at the edge of her curls, and excitement and nerves twisted in her belly. Her hands shot down and gripped his hair.

"I haven't washed," she blurted, so instantly and utterly mortified about that one, practical matter, that it overshadowed her nerves about what he apparently meant to do.

"Mmm," he hummed, almost groaned. "You smell _amazing_."

"No. _Zach._ Listen to me." She raised herself up on one elbow and tugged at his hair, frantic now, until he blinked and looked up at her. "I haven't showered since yesterday morning!"

Some of the sex-drenched single-mindedness cleared from his eyes as he seemed to take in her anxiety at last. And then — oh God, he just raised his eyebrows, with something amused and tolerant in his smile that made her stomach swoop.

"Katie, you're wet. You're _soaked._ I know it because I can smell it. It's all fresh and sweet, and I'm going to enjoy you so very much." He ran his fingers through the slick mess between her legs in a slow, teasing demonstration, from her clit to her opening. She made an embarrassing, squeaky noise in her throat and her hips jerked into the touch in a reflexive motion that was entirely out of her control. His arms slid under her bottom and the small of her back, anchoring her and raising her up to him as he leaned in again. The sensation that followed was almost unbearably soft as he licked her, re-tracing the path his fingers had taken, and she whined and shook, the muscles of her hips and thighs tensing in his hold.

"You don't need to come from this, all right?" he muttered. She could hear the sensuous distraction, the thick arousal in his voice, and it made her head spin. "Relax and feel me. Just enjoy it, too."

Relax was easier said than done, when everything he did sent new shocks of sensation exploding through her body. Her fingers gripped his shoulders so hard she worried dimly that she was hurting him, and she forced herself to let go and slam her hands down on the mattress to bunch in the sheets instead. God, yes, she could _feel_ him, his face wedged snugly between her legs, the morning stubble on his jaw rasping against her inner thighs, and that sinuous, soft tongue tracing her folds, dragging wetly between them, scooping her inside and out. Eating her out, that's what he did. Finally she realised why boys called it that, because there was greed in the act, not at all the dainty, reserved thing she'd imagined; he was swallowing, drinking her down, moaning so she could feel the vibrations of it in her own flesh, his arms flexing and tightening around her waist. 

He seemed in no hurry, taking his time, and when he finally moved his attention to her clit she was panting harshly and more than ready for it, her neck arched back and her thighs spreading wide for him. He flicked his tongue at her, softly, and the warm wet of his mouth wrapped around the tight little node, drew her in, sucked at her and rolled her against the top of his mouth. The intensely sweet pull of the sensation focused every nerve in her body on that unceasing rhythm, that pulsing point of pleasure, and soon, her stomach and hips tightened with a thick, hot tension, a near-nauseous, vertiginous pull in her belly that made her whimper and twist to grab his shoulders.

"Too much," she managed, choking on thwarted need and frustrated anger at herself. "Fuck. I... I can't—"

He shushed her. "That's fine." His face was slick from her, lips and chin and nose glistening, and he grabbed a corner of the sheets and wiped himself. "It's fine, it's good," he said, breathless, coming over her and manoeuvring them both further up on the bed. He kissed her with that mouth that tasted intensely of her own arousal, and she wasn't sure if she _liked_ it, but it stoked her desperation all the same, made her moan as his tongue fed her own taste to her with every lick and stroke into her mouth. Her thighs were spread around his hips and she wanted relief for the ache so badly it wrenched a sob from her.

A hand stroked the hair away from her hot, sweaty face. "Need a break?"

"No... yes. Oh, God, I'm sorry, I don't know." She sobbed again, took his hand and pressed it between her legs. "I need—"

His fingers moved on her at once, far better than his tongue right now, comforting after that searing intensity. He pushed two fingers inside her and pressed his thumb down on her clit in slow, firm circles, and her head fell back on the mattress as she gasped in relief. "Better?" he whispered.

She hissed, felt her muscles clutch at the thick, welcome invasion of his fingers. "Yes..." Frantic, she gripped his wrist and made him move his fingers in her harder. Faster. Her tried and true route to end it, to fake it, except this time everything she felt was shockingly real. His mouth on her had teased her to such a sensitive state that every thrust of his fingers and flick of his thumb made her hips jerk to meet him, tensing again, so much she was shaking. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest, her ears, hard and almost painful through her body. He kissed her, both of them breathing hard, together. 

"God," he whispered roughly, "you're so fucking close," and she cried out. 

"Don't you think I _know_ that?" Clinging to a ledge, poised to fall, _wanting_ to fall, yet wanting to stay. "What if I—"

"It will be fine, whatever you do, because I've got you. I've got you, no matter what." He sounded so implacably sure, and anger rose in her in a seething hot tide.

"That's easy for you to _say_. You're such a, a— _oh_!" He was moving down her body with kisses to her throat, her collarbone, and his tongue dragged over each of her nipples in wet hard strokes. He slid his arm under her back and shoulders, encouraging her to arch up against him as he pulled one tight, prickling point into his mouth and suckled her firmly, working her with his tongue, and in counterpoint his thumb eased up the pressure on her clit, drawing lazy, delicate circles around and over like tracings of a feather, the flicker of a flame. Trembling hard, she raised her hips to chase the killing gentleness of it, and he rubbed down harder again and without warning the tension _surged_ there, raised her stunned and breathless on the crest of it. "Oh," she said, clutching out blindly, "oh, oh, _oh_ ," and all at once she was gasping, _soaring_ , colours bursting behind her eyelids and rhythmic pulses clenching and releasing around his fingers inside her. 

And she didn't fall, at all. She was catching an updraft, gliding on a warm current, knowing it would carry her safely, because nothing that felt this much like heaven could have anything but a gorgeous, perfect descent. Happy astonishment flooded her along with the hitching waves of pleasure, so that before she was quite done crying out and surging against him, it changed right into laughter, breathless hiccups and peals of giggles as she tucked her face in against his shoulder.

Zach was laughing, too. "Thank you, thank you," he said, panting, kissing her ear. "I'll be here all night."

That sent her into a new fit of out-of-breath, bewildered laughter. She was so amazed and so light-headed with relief that she wound her arms around his shoulders and hung on to make sure she wouldn't just float away. His hand rested between her legs, quiet now, and she still felt fading aftershocks of pleasure, a slowing throb in her clit and in the muscles clutching around his fingers.

At last she lay completely relaxed, heavy on the sweaty, twisted sheets, the laughter died down to a wide smile and her pounding heartbeat settling back towards normal. "Did that really happen?" she whispered.

He smirked. "Well, something did, and it looked remarkably like one of my wet dreams." He finally slid his fingers out of her and drew her into his arms. She turned and stretched out against him, luxuriant, and nuzzled against his neck.

"Thank you." Gratitude welled up in her as she pulled back enough to meet his gaze.

"Feels like that should be my line." He sounded earnest, yet she wondered how he could be. She could feel how hard he was inside his jeans, pressing against her. She moved her hand there, and a quiet, unsteady hiss escaped past his lips. His hand closed lightly around her wrist, not stopping her. "Do you want to?" he said gruffly. "This was _your_ show. You don't need to."

Katie leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, suddenly feeling diffident. "I... Not... not inside me," she said, struggling to find words that wouldn't make it sound like a rejection. "I don't want to come again, I mean I just... don't want to _try_ again, not now at once, okay?"

"Yes, of course." He touched her jaw and tilted her face up. "Look, if you prefer, I'll go into the shower and take care of it myself. No problem." Still hard and straining under her palm, he managed to look and sound like he meant it. He was even smiling. Katie shook her head and stared at him.

"No," she said on a soft exhale of breath. " _Oh_ , no, I'm definitely taking care of this." 

He chuckled. "It's not as though you'll have to twist my arm, you understand." He dropped his gaze, watching while she slid open the buttons of his flies. She eased the edge of his boxers down over his erection, and he helped her push the boxers and jeans down on his thighs and made that soft hissing noise between clenched teeth again as she curled her fingers around him. "Kind of close, here, so you know," he managed, "unsubtle is fine."

"Poor thing," she said, grinning. It felt rather good to be the one in control, this time, not the one shaking and begging on the edge. She gripped him firmly, and moved her hand on him in steady, even pulls. No point being a tease about it when he was clearly way overdue for some hands-on attention. He moved into her strokes with tensely controlled thrusts, one hand sliding into her hair and the other curling over her hip. 

"Christ," he muttered, "that feels good."

She kissed his jaw. He was breathing harshly, so sexy in his struggle for control, and she felt a definite echo, a fresh memory of that flood of pleasure in her own body. She wriggled closer, pressed against him, and his fingers dug hard into her hip, his own hips snapping faster. She moved her hand faster in time.

There was a knock on the door.

They both froze. Zach's eyes squeezed shut in a grimace suggesting agony. "Ah, hell."

"Katie?" It was Harry's voice. Before she could find her voice to answer, the door pushed open. A sharp intake of breath followed, and mere seconds' stunned silence, and then the door slammed shut with a bang that shook the house. When his voice reached them again through the door, it was thready. "For fuck's sake, cover up that hairy white arse, Smith!"

"It's not hairy, it's midwinter, and I'm an Englishman, do you expect a bloody allover tan?" Zach snapped back at the door, sitting up and scrubbing his hand down his face. "Why not ring the fucking doorbell?"

"I tried!"

Katie moaned, her palms pressed to her hot face. "Harry!" she cried. "Go! Go and... and make breakfast!"

"Breakfast?" Harry's voice climbed in pitch so abruptly it sounded on the verge of cracking.

She _growled_. "You owe me one, Harry! You've owed me ever since you took Gryffindor Captain from me in my seventh year!"

It was perhaps underhanded to pull out that card now, after four years, but she knew that Harry knew that she was right. There was a moment's silence, followed by a loud sigh. "Fine, fine! But don't take all day; Proudfoot is breathing down my neck! Christ!"

His footsteps stomped away and Katie grabbed Zach by the shoulders and pushed him down so concisely that she heard the breath whoosh out of him.

"Fuck, Bell." Zach looked dazed, as he stared up at her. "I thought my cock would be as limp as a daisy, but growling really becomes you."

Katie giggled as she reached for his poor, patient, long-suffering erection again. This time, he scooped her close with an arm around her back, and he closed his fingers over hers, guiding their motions. He was soon breathing raggedly again, moaning and touching his lips and tongue to hers in shallow, sloppy kisses, and it didn't take long at all before he shook and jerked into their combined, sliding grip on his length, making a warm, sticky mess between them.

He gasped out harsh breaths, relaxing slowly against her. She reached over him for his wand and cast a cleaning charm on them both, and he made an incoherent, grateful mumbling noise into her hair.

"Nice?" she asked softly, and he huffed out a laugh and gave her a firm, affectionate squeeze with his arm.

"Mmm," he sighed. "That was _damn_ nice."

"Now all I have to do is stop you from strangling Harry after the fact."

"If he's made breakfast and is carrying only moderately crappy news, I'll consider a truce. If he'd come before _you_ did, however—" Zach's eyes actually darkened. "I'd have strung him up by his bollocks from the top of the Finch-Fletchleys' flagpole."

Katie swallowed laughter. "Good thing I did come," she said quietly, "before Harry did, I mean," and he looked at her and smiled, and took the time to draw her in for a cuddle despite the world and its millennial woes waiting just outside the bedroom door.

"Yes," he agreed. "An excellent thing, indeed."  
  


***

  
Katie grabbed a three-minute shower and tucked herself into a fluffy bath-towel, then dressed in yesterday's clothes in the bedroom while Zach used the shower after her. Opening the door into the hall, the smell of bacon and sausages cooking was unmistakable. Harry must have actually gone out and bought groceries, bless his heart. She padded into the kitchen and found him in full swing at the giant, four-oven cooker that looked rather old-fashioned, she thought, for a modern Muggle household. He was wearing a manly apron with a beer bottle print that she assumed must be Mr Finch-Fletchley's when he was slumming it.

"I'm going to owe you for the Gryffindor Captain position my whole life, no matter what I do, right?" he asked over his shoulder.

She pressed her lips together against a smile, but she kept a trace of steel in her voice. "Bloody right, you will."

"Thought so. So why am I cooking breakfast?"

"Because penance is good for your soul. Plus, you're a nice bloke and you don't want me to starve." She nodded at the fried breakfast simmering and sizzling on the cooker top. "I'm impressed. You didn't even burn the bacon."

"Yeah." Harry shrugged. "I'm no chef, but if there's one thing I learned young, it's to cook a good breakfast for an enormous arse. Not talking of you, Katie."

"I would hope not," she said, amused. "I've never heard the word 'enormous' in relation to my arse." She sat down in a chair at the pine table that had been set for three. "I see you're back to your old self."

"Thank God for small mercies," Harry said heavily.

"So what's the news?"

Harry sighed. "In brief? Nine people arrested, match cancelled, Millennium League blown to hell."

"Nine?" 

They both looked towards the door. Zach had put on yesterday's clothes, too, and he was lowering a towel from his messy damp hair as he looked with tense dismay at Harry. For the first and possibly last time, Katie saw a glimmer of sympathy for the other man in Harry's face.

"So far. There will be more than nine, but there are only two players involved," he said. "One person in management, one of the referees, and there's a group of gamblers behind the scam, of course. Katie's boss was in league with them, and he was the one who assigned the dirty referee." 

"Which players?" Zach asked tensely. "Were they put under Imperius, too? And who from the management?"

"Assistant trainer. As for the players, Prescott and Finlay." Harry shook his head. "They were in it for the money, and of their own free will. I'm sorry." 

Zach got a look on his face that made Katie swallow and glance out the window to give him a few seconds' privacy. Prescott was one of the Beaters, a competent but surly young bloke in his twenties whom she'd barely ever exchanged a word with. She doubted Zach would have had much to do with him, either. But Nicholas Finlay was the Arrows' Keeper, a man in his forties with firm authority on the pitch and a warm grin for everyone out of it. Everyone liked Nick, who was known to be a betting man, and would go to the races every Sunday in the season to wager his Galleons on Granians and Abraxans. He must have lost more of those Galleons than anyone had suspected, to take part in a scheme like this.

Zach crossed the floor and drew out a chair beside her, and she looked at him again. He'd more or less found his composure.

"Makes sense, I suppose. Finlay kept those paycheques flying out as fast as they came in," she said quietly. "But I didn't think it would be him."

He nodded. "At least it wasn't Kris or Laetitia. Or the Captain." Sighing, he looked over at Harry, who was flipping eggs in the frying pan. "What did they need me for, then, when they already had the fucking Keeper? Hell, why not put the Seeker under Imperius, instead?"

"They needed control of a Chaser to keep the Arrows' score down, and you've been the team's top scorer in the ongoing season." Harry gave him a wry look. "Apparently you have a reputation for being a bone-headed git, which is why they chose Imperius directly rather than trying to tempt you with money. As for your Seeker, she's in St Mungo's, being treated for a bad case of food poisoning. The Arrows would have had to play with their reserve Seeker today, and he's not had an impressive season." Harry took the frying pan from the cooker and headed to the table.

Zach was notably pale, even for an Englishman in midwinter. There was a muscle in his jaw clenching and unclenching. "I don't really fancy breakfast," he said stiffly.

Harry slammed the frying pan down, his small store of empathy for Zach evidently spent. "You'll eat," he said tersely, "and look happy. Or miserable, I don't really care. Just bloody well eat your bloody breakfast. And after that, you two are coming with me to the office so that we can get your official statements down in the Pensieve. With some luck, Proudfoot isn't going to assign me filing duty for a week because I pandered to your prick rather than haul you in at once."

"Tetchy, Potter." Zach sneered. "Didn't Greg want your lips around his dick this morning?"

Harry turned red in an instant, but it was Katie he looked at as he answered, very loud. "I've _never_ —"

"I know, Harry," Katie said with fraying patience. It was hard not to explode in temper or start giggling hysterically, and she tried to remind herself that both Harry and Zach had had better moments. "For some reason, you Polyjuiced yourself as Goyle at some point, and both Zach and I realise that. Zach loves yanking your chain, because he is a bit of an arse, as are you. Sit down, I'll pour the tea, and if I can make a request, I'd appreciate it greatly if none of you would mention pricks or dicks again while I eat my sausages."

Both men shot her sullen, uneasy looks. They had their breakfast in silence.  
  


***

  
"You did _what_?" Leanne said, staring at her aghast. She was talking so loud that even in the unbelievably noisy place that was Al's and Angelina's flat during the last hour of the millennium, people turned curious looks at the two of them.

Katie sighed, sipped at her drink and kept her voice carefully lowered. "I can't believe I told you all of this, and yet what you focus on is the tangential point of me having sex with Zach."

"Zach?" Leanne's eyes narrowed in alarm. "He is Smith, he's always been Smith; when did he become Zach?"

"Last night. After I met his sister. Did you hear any of that, at all?"

"I... all right, I did. But you know, he could have taken his sister to Justin's parents that night and let _them_ take care of getting her out of the country. He could have come back and fought beside his friends. Any Gryffindor would have."

Katie gave her friend a long, appraising look. "What's up with you?" she asked finally. "I mean, you usually display signs of having a heart. Did you trade it in for something made of metal and clockwork?"

"It's Smith, all right?! Regardless of whether he's got a dozen Squib sisters, he's a smug, arrogant prat!"

"His name is Zach," Katie said patiently. She could sort of understand Leanne's reaction; after all, her own opinion about Zach had been the exact same one, as late as the day before. And he _was_ a smug, arrogant prat... at times. Admittedly, a fair amount of the time. "Look, if it bothers you that I had sex with him, it's a little late to be concerned. I already did once, half a year ago. Before I got kicked off the team, which, by the way, I no longer think he was responsible for. And it doesn't even matter much, because I would have been kicked off a few days later, anyway." 

Leanne had turned a shade of red that confused Katie completely, and suddenly grabbed her half-full bottle of ale and emptied it without taking it from her mouth. She looked nauseous when she put it down. "I need to tell you something," she gulped out.

The way Leanne said it made Katie freeze. "What?" she asked warily.

Leanne swallowed so Katie could see it, and her eyes filled with tears. "You're going to hate me."

Katie's jaw dropped as she went over the last few things they'd said and the truth slammed home. Her stomach made a queasy lurch. " _You_ went to the management?"

"Yes," Leanne admitted in a low voice.

It was too much to take in, on top of everything else that had happened during the last twenty-four hours. Katie wanted to scream. "How did you know?" she managed.

"I didn't care about the stupid game, all right? I went to the matches because you're my bloody best friend and I cared about _you_!" Leanne was openly crying now. "You could have died, back in school, you idiot! You lay there for month after month after fucking _month_ and no one could promise me that you'd wake up. Did you really think I wouldn't notice that you were about to fall off your bloody broom?" 

"Then why didn't you say something to _me_?" Katie said numbly. "Wouldn't that have been the logical thing to do?"

"Because you're the most stubborn person I know, and I knew if you were going on playing when you could slam dead to the ground any moment, then you'd have denied all of it to me, too. Like you did to yourself." Leanne grabbed a napkin and wiped at her eyes before she blew her nose soundly. "I didn't have time for screaming matches with you when you could have gone out and killed yourself at the next practice, all right?"

Katie'd had her mouth open to say something furious, something that probably would have been irrevocable, but instead she stared at Leanne and huffed out a breath. And another one. 

Leanne wasn't one to get easily tearful. She was tough, like Katie herself, Katie who never cried. 

Well, hardly ever.

"Was I really that bad?" she asked quietly.

"About Quidditch? Always," Leanne said with tired conviction. "Listen, I know it was underhanded to go behind your back. I _know_. I was going to tell you after it was done, but you came home so distraught, I thought you'd cut me off for good. And when I realised you were instantly convinced that Smith had done it... it was such an easy way out. I mean, what harm could it do? You already despised him. We both did. Blaming him for that one thing more, it didn't change anything, or so I said to myself." She wiped away fresh tears. "I hated every time you talked about it, about him. I hated that it made me lie to you all over again. God, Katie, I'm sorry. Please say you forgive me. Please, don't hate me."

Katie looked at her best friend, lost for words — lost for thoughts, almost. It was all a whirling mess of emotion in her head. Anger, betrayal — but understanding, too. And years of friendship, from someone who'd always loved her despite the Quidditch, not because of it. When it was the only thing that Katie'd ever thought that she knew how to do.

She'd asked forgiveness herself, last night, and been granted it, from someone who might self-righteously have withheld it, and maybe that fresh memory tipped the scales more than anything. 

"I do forgive you," she heard herself saying. The words gave some resistance, coming out, but she felt that in her heart, deep down they were true. "Of course I don't hate you; don't be silly. I know I'm not rational about the game, and I told you, I would have been kicked off the team anyway. I would have had to tell them myself, or Zach would." That wasn't what Leanne really was sorry for, she knew, or what she herself was really upset about, but they'd just have to chalk that part of it up to human error and put it behind them. Both of them. 

"Zach would? Zach Smith?" Al said, tapping her shoulder. "Zach would what?"

"Zach would be very annoyed at you for eavesdropping," Katie said without missing a beat.

"I was not! I came here to tell you he's asking for you at the door, and here you're sitting talking about him. Is that a coincidence," said Al with blatant, grinning curiosity, "or what?" She gave Leanne's tear-streaked face a considering look, but left well enough alone.

Katie felt, to her mild annoyance, that her face had taken on the heat of a blush. "Zach is here?"

"At the door. He seemed surprisingly non-grouchy," Al said, "especially considering all they said on the wireless news tonight. Smiled at me and everything."

"My memory is a tad fuzzy, but I believe I told him that you wanted to kill him with sex, back in... spring, some time," Katie admitted. "I guess it would be enough to make any man inclined to feel mellow towards you."

"Oh God, hell, you didn't!" Al laughed so hard she was leaning on Katie's shoulder.

"I did," Katie assured her, "but please note that recently I've decided I may want to kill him with sex, myself, so hands off."

Al danced off somewhere else, and Leanne hugged Katie so tightly that she wondered for a moment if she felt a rib crack. As they drew back and their gazes met, they even managed a smile. "Thanks," Leanne whispered, and sighed. "Smith... That is, your _Zach_ is going to hate my guts for this, I guess. That could be awkward, if you plan to keep him around."

He was hardly _her_ Zach, not yet, but Katie considered the statement seriously. "I see no reason to tell him," she said finally. "I think he gets that I no longer believe _he_ did it, so it doesn't really matter if it were you or someone else." She might, she realised, be developing a giant-sized crush on Zach Smith, but friendship was friendship, and whether Leanne objectively deserved Zach's ire or not, Katie had no wish to see her friend feel worse about her actions than she already did.

Besides, Hufflepuffs weren't the only ones who could be pragmatic. She shrugged. "I've found I'm pretty glad to not be dead, actually, and I may have both you and Zach to thank for that. Now go and wash your face. You look bloody terrible. You can't seriously mean to go into the new millennium with smeared mascara." She gave Leanne a more heartfelt grin, this time, before she gave her a firm shove in the direction of the bathroom.

She couldn't deny her heart was racing as she hurried into the hall. There was no sign of Zach, so she stepped into her boots and put on her coat and scarf before pushing the front door open and slipping outside. 

Smoke hung thick in the air, and scattered fireworks were bursting into the sky in impatient anticipation of the main event at midnight. Zach stood with his hands deep in his pockets, head craned back as he watched a slow explosion break into a dazzling rain of green and blue sparks, a mile up in the sky.

He tilted his head at her. "That's a nice one."

"Yeah," she said, watching too for a moment, then walked the few steps over to him. He was in a wool coat, jeans and a huge scarf in Hufflepuff colours, and he looked tired. He must have had a completely crappy day.

"How are things on the team?" she asked softly.

He shrugged. "We're consolidating. There'll be investigations, and planning, and meetings, lots of meetings, but today we've mostly just hung out and talked, us players and the management. People are gutted about Finlay, in particular, even more than the cup and the match itself. Management took care of the press, thank God, along with Anders. We'll be limping for a while, but the Arrows are going to get through this." He glanced up at the sky again, where another firework exploded and burst into sphere after sphere of hanging red and gold sparks, like daisies opening into daisies. "Look," he said with a sly smile at her, "that one reminds me of you, this morning."

Katie felt herself go hot to the tips of her ears. "And you," she managed after a moment, "anything here that reminds you of you?"

"I saw a very large Roman Candle in the neighbour's yard just before you came out," Zach said, and looked boyishly pleased when she laughed.

"You want to come inside?" she asked. "Midnight's in... twenty minutes, I think."

He gave the house a considering look. "Probably packed with Gryffs, yeah? Plus everyone will be talking about the Arrows. I think I'll pass. Zinnia and I are on our way to Wiltshire, anyway. We've been at the Three Broomsticks, but Zinnia wanted to spend midnight with Cecilia and John, so we're meeting Justin there." He glanced down the path, and Katie finally spotted the young girl among the people standing about in the street. Katie waved and got a quick wave back, before Zinnia craned her neck back and pretended distraction by fireworks.

"Look at that; she's all shy and awkward, all of a sudden," Zach said wryly. "She's been extremely curious about you."

"She doesn't mind... coming here?"

"You mean, to wizarding places? Nah, she's started to think it's cool again. She likes the magic. She was damn skittish right after the war. No wonder." He shrugged. "Anyway, she's all into these Muggle things, so I don't think she feels as sore about it any longer. Computers and stuff. Movies and music. She's wild about this thing on the computers called the 'internet'. Which, by the way, John is extremely concerned may suddenly switch itself off at the stroke of midnight, so we've got a wager going with him about that." 

"That's good," Katie said slowly. "I mean, that she's adapting. Finding a new way; her own way. I... I'm thinking that if she can, then I can, too. It's got to be harder to make do without magic, than without Quidditch, when all is said and done."

"I think that's individual, but yeah, there's more in the world than both." Zach was giving her a bemused look. "I didn't want you to meet her to... force perspective down over your head, or anything. I strictly wanted you to know about her so you'd think better of _me_." There was a self-mocking note of petulance in his voice, and Katie tried and failed to suppress a grin.

"No worries. I dare say you accomplished that, too." She dropped her gaze, and her voice lowered. "I never thanked you for last night. I mean, the middle of the night, before the fireworks. I... think I needed that."

"Don't mention it." He dug his hands deeper into his pockets, and kicked at a lump of ice on the path. "Zinnia wanted me to ask you to come with us to Wiltshire tonight, but... I told her, it's New Year's Eve. You'll want to be with your old friends; that's only right. Tomorrow, though—" he glanced up, arching an eyebrow at her. "First of January, new millennium, pretty perfect for starting something new, right? Would you consider... going out for dinner, or something? Somewhere with dancing, perhaps, where you could wear a short dress?"

Katie bit her lip in an attempt at stopping her smile from spreading right around her head. Under the joke, he actually sounded as if he were bracing himself for rejection, genuinely unsure of her reply. Men could be endearingly dense, at times.

"Depends," she said. "Do you put out on the first date?"

He laughed, and she loved the way his eyes crinkled with delight and surprise. "Is that a trick question?"

"Let's call it an interested enquiry."

"Then, hell yes. I'm as easy as they come, you'll find. That part is all up to you."

"I wouldn't mind some more fireworks," Katie admitted, blushing slightly as she glanced up at him. 

"Well, I'd be very happy to assist you with that, believe me." He leaned in and kissed her, tentative yet lingering, a bit breathless, hands still in his pockets, and she leaned into the careful touch. "I'll pick you up tomorrow night, then?" he murmured. "Seven?"

"Perfect." She smiled as he leaned their foreheads together a moment. Their breaths huffed out in soft clouds that mingled and hung between them in the cold air. "Happy new year to you, Zach Smith."

A hand brushed over her hair, with a gentleness that no longer surprised her. "And an excellent new year to you, Katie Bell."

She watched him saunter down to the gate and over to Zinnia. Both of them turned to wave at her, and Katie waved back until Zach gripped Zinnia's hand in one hand and his wand in the other, and Apparated them away.

At once, a wave of people began streaming out of the door. Katie looked around and saw Leanne peeking out, putting her knitted hat on. "I kept them at bay until Zach was gone," she said. "The Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes fireworks start above the lake in twenty minutes."

Katie recognised the peace offering, the use of Zach's first name as much as the action itself, and she wound an arm around Leanne's shoulders when she came down the front steps. "Thanks. I really appreciate that." 

Leanne cast a curious glance in the direction where Zach and Zinnia had disappeared, but didn't ask when Katie volunteered no more. "Want to Apparate, or walk?"

"Let's walk," Katie said. They waited for Al and Angelina, and started down the snowy road under the steadily increasing boom and crackle of lights in the sky, laughing and chatting with their friends. Despite everything she needed to fix, all the questions still waiting, it made a very nice end to a rough year, Katie thought. A good end, to make way for a fresh beginning.  
  


-end-


End file.
